#i’m expecting to lose ppl here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saetoru · 1 year ago

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good.

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left.

and then satoru wins.

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead.

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure.

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware.

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place.

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it.

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free.

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair.

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared.

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on.

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close.

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper.

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?”

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for.

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore.

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down.

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were.

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself.

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever.

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why.

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought.

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare.

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature.

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again.

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face.

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high.

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath.

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause.

and then you remember.

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru.

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have.

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again.

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh.

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself.

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close.

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness.

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night.

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans.

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest.

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room.

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry.

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly.

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not.

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen.

you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast.

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between.

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace.

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile.

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart.

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name.

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles.

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away.

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment.

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years.

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do.

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you.

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru.

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had.

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him.

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind.

his breath hitches.

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror.

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms.

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened.

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him.

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance.

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to.

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention.

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence.

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them.

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them.

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to.

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down.

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it.

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself.

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life.

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in.

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you.

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin.

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for.

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you?

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it.

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life?

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him.

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal.

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score.

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous.

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort.

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good.

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off.

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think.

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles.

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it.

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug.

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed.

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place.

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look.

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch.

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes.

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this.

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room.

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook.

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again.

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind.

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks.

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left.

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good.

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence.

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away.

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow.

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation.

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too.

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes.

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too.

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?”

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever.

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive.

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy.

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru.

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little.

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled.

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises.

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough.

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink.

finally, for once, you’re enough.

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering.

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much.

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum.

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

#teepods.writings #fics.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto fluff #geto angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru angst #geto suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff

6K notes · View notes

feyascorner · 11 months ago

Text

wish you would look at me

summary. convinced that you’re in love with another, when you approach him with a serious expression, he readies himself for the inevitable—rejection. but is it ever that simple?

pairing. astarion x GN!reader

warnings. light angst, fluff

a/n. this is inspired by the ppl who have love triangles w gale and astarion in act 2 and what he says if you pick him bec when I saw that I almost cried pls let him be happy

If you asked him a few weeks ago, he’d laugh at the mere suggestion that he could ever be jealous of someone like Gale. That blasted wizard couldn't go four steps before begging for a magical shoe or pathetically limping his way behind the rest of the group while you frantically searched for the said shoe. And when he found out the wizard was a few errors away from exploding, somehow Astarion felt even more pity (not really) for the lad.

Yet here he was.

He’s not sure when the hell you and Gale had gotten so chummy, but it rubbed him the wrong way. Even if his expression would never show it. He sips at his wine while Karlach and Wyll continue to chat about God knows what, too busy peering from the corner of his eyes as you lean into Gale’s shoulders to look closer at the book he was holding.

Perhaps the tadpole had finally made you lose your mind. He'd almost dropped his goblet when you denied his invitation to his tent tonight, spouting the excuse that you'd asked Gale to help you with something, and now this?

God knows why you ever found the wizard charming. If Gale could do something, he could too—much better, in fact. He was sure of it.

His grip tightens around the goblet when he hears you laugh.

Sure, his original intentions for approaching you had been less than noble…and he might have seduced you for more selfish reasons than you originally knew, but as much as he hated himself for it, he'd grown rather fond of you. In his own way, of course.

He’d only realized that the anxious squirming in his stomach was not of fear but of affection when you'd defended him from that vile drow at Moonrise Towers. He'd half expected you to ask him to throw himself at her, yet you stood your ground, showing nothing but respect to his own boundaries while you failed to realize that he'd deceived your own.

He truly had no reason to feel this way. He was selfish, he knew, for feeling so possessive because not once had the two of you established being exclusive. Though you'd respected him, you saw him for just that. A friend to respect, and nothing more. Sure, you'd spent a few nights together, but it was a mindless night of passion and he knew he'd continue to be your fling until you found another to truly love. He had just hoped it wouldn't be someone like Gale, of all people…or Wyll…or Shadowheart…or anyone for that matter.

He shakes his head. The wine must be getting to him. Serious relationships aren't a luxury he can afford, he reminds himself, relaxing his shoulders. He’s perfectly okay with being your ally—nothing more or nothing less. Ecstatic, even.

But when Gale flips a page of the book and both of you lean closer again—this time dangerously close—he feels a sharp pain shoot up his hand.

“Uh, Fangs, you alright there?” Karlach stares at the cracked glass in his hand and even he blinks at it in disbelief.

Apparently not.

He sighs irritably, dumping the glass elsewhere. “I’m quite alright. Seems I just need a nice comfortable mattress than a thin bedroll on the ground, but it’ll do for now.”

“Need help patching that up? You're bleeding.”

He almost laughs, if it weren't for the giggle coming from your direction. “Blood’s my specialty, darling, remember?” Without another word, he paces into his tent, closing the flap behind him for the universe signal that screams ‘don’t bother me.’

So when half an hour later, when he no longer hears the crackle of the campfire, he sees your shadow emerge from the other side of his tent flap, he squints.

“Can I come in?” He fails to respond, and hears you shuffle. “Ah, are you asleep?”

At this, he can't help but snort. You instinctively peek inside, and he runs a hand through his hair, sighing in defeat. “If I'd been asleep just how would I answer that question?”

He motions you closer and you take it as a sign to step inside, careful to avoid stepping on any of his belongings before situating yourself in front of him. “It was rhetorical, obviously!”

“Of course,” he doesn't seem convinced, lips curling into a teasing grin. “Now tell me, what brings you to my palace this late at night? Surely not for a cuddle. I'd thought you declined my offer earlier?”

Usually, you'd smile, but instead you only look down at your clasped hands, seemingly in thought. “I needed to talk to you—without everyone else watching.”

The usual brightness to your tone is missing.

Oh, he thinks. You've come to end things with him.

“Ah,” is all he says. He can tell his smile hasn't dropped, but it doesn't feel that way. “I hear you've found a new lover. Perhaps you want to keep yourself for this one, true love? How romantic, darling.”

You frown at this, and he wonders if he’s done something wrong. But it does little to stop his defense mechanisms from springing into action, because he’s immediately slipping into his usual mask, grin stretching wider but never reaching his eyes.

He hates the words coming out of his own mouth as if they taste of poison. Still, his voice is steady, almost teasing. Perks of the 200 years spent shamelessly lying, he supposes. “So, is this the end of our late night trysts? Even though they were an awful lot of fun?”

He doesn’t think he could stand watching you with that damned wizard. He doesn't even want to think about it quite frankly, because all he feels is his chest tighten when he imagines someone else holding you the way he does. And gods, if had to watch Gale’s poor attempt at flirting one more time…

But then again, you'd be with someone who doesn't manipulate you. Someone who doesn't toy with your feelings, or someone who doesn't seduce you for protection.

His smile twitches, and he just braces himself for your response.

“I’d rather be with you.”

He stares at you, eyes wider than its ever been since he'd gotten this damn worm in his brain.

“What? Why?” he blurts, embarrassingly so, before he composes himself again and clears his throat. “I mean, well, I know why—but I thought you'd had something more…with Gale.”

As much as he despises the idea, he'd seen the way you'd laughed with him. And while it was a new experience for him to be fond of another person, he'd found that these feelings had led him to rather you be happy than dragging you down with him. If it meant you wouldn't regret your choice, he’d been willing to deal with it.

So why?

“I want something real with you, Astarion,” you say softly, eyes meeting his. “I don't know if you feel the same way, but Gale and I are better off as friends, and I told him before I came here. And besides, it’d be cruel of me to lead him on while my heart is with another.”

He thinks he might have died again just now. For the first time in decades, he’s actually at a loss for words. “I—if that's what you truly want—we can try. Be lovers, I mean.”

You finally smile at his words, and Gods above if that doesn't lift the excruciating weight of the past few weeks off his shoulders. He feels the warmth of your lips when you lean forward to give him a peck on the cheek, everything happening so fast that his mind is spinning. He snaps back into focus when you pull back.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

You could have—should have, done it earlier. With a smile of his own, he leads you back to him, this time planting a soft kiss on your lips. It’s short, and not nearly enough, but it’ll do for tonight.

“Well then, consider yourself wholeheartedly taken then, my dear.”

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 x reader #fluff #angst with a happy ending

1K notes · View notes

hamable · 1 year ago

Text

I’m about to write an essay on the specific situation Miles is in as we set up for a third movie.

With great power comes great responsibility.

Not a single spiderman asked to be bit. No one planned to be spiderman. But, given the power to do so, they chose to become spiderman. Miles is bitten by a spider from a different dimension that was never meant for him. In that moment, two dimensions were doomed. One to lose it’s intended spiderman, and one to never have one at all.

But Miles’s New York isnt in a state of anarchy like Universe-42, where his spider came from. It’s relatively normal. It’s what we expect of Spider-Man’s New York. It’s not doomed.

Spiderman doesn’t choose to get powers. In any universe. But every spiderman looks at what he has and the world around him and does what he can do.

Miles is just as much a Spiderman as every other Peter out there. It could be anyone under the mask, should they chose to wear it.

He may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time but so was every other bite victim. This is not his fault. And it may take another watch or two for me to confirm, but I don’t think Miguel ever directly says something to blame miles as an actor in all this. Yes, miles is the linchpin. To keep to the canon web, miles should not have been bitten. The fault falls on happenstance, though it’s all too easy to pin on miles. But I don’t think Miguel ever says that. Miles shouldn’t exist. Miles is not spiderman, in Miguel’s eyes. But goddamnit he’s not at fault here.

I’m hoping Miles can take control of his own narrative. His entire character revolves around balancing the expectations of those around him while he tries to discover his own. His family, his school, living up to what spiderman is supposed to be. Even The Hole confronts him and demands he acknowledge they are nemeses, and upon being turned down, seeks vengeance and validation which is the catalyst for the movies major conflict. Ppl keep telling miles who to be. And in a universe where a kid got bit when he shouldn’t have, I hope he finds the strength to rewrite more shouldn’ts. Spiderman can do both. The captain doesn’t have to die. His relationship with Gwen Stacy does not end in tragedy.

EDIT: FUCKIN. IF THE CANON RULES ARE SO IMPORTANT. WHY’D JEFF DIE IN A UNIVERSE WITH NO SPIDERMAN? UNCLE AARON DIDNT HAVE TO DIE IN THAT ONE SO WHY DID THE CAPTAIN??? ANSWER ME THAT M I G U E L?????

#across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse spoilers #sats spoilers #spiderman across the spiderverse spoilers #spiderman

2K notes · View notes

luvzshy · 1 month ago

Note

Ouuuuu maybe reader x Billie getting into a really bad fight and Billie getting insecure about something reader said and then they make up like hurt/comfort vibe

Beneath the Hurt

The night was cold, but the tension between you and Billie made it feel suffocating. What started as a small disagreement had spiraled into something neither of you expected. Voices were raised, harsh words thrown around. Billie’s eyes were sharp, her normally calm demeanor crumbling as her insecurities took hold.

“I can’t believe you said that,” Billie muttered, her voice barely above a whisper but heavy with hurt.

You stood there, heart pounding, replaying the argument in your head. In a moment of frustration, you’d said something—something careless—about how she was always so closed off, always keeping her emotions buried deep. You didn’t mean for it to hurt her like this.

“Billie, I didn’t—” you started, reaching for her, but she pulled back, wrapping her arms around herself as if shielding her heart.

“No, you did. You meant it. Maybe you think I’m too much to deal with,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Maybe… maybe you’d be happier with someone else.”

The thought made your chest tighten painfully. “Billie, no. That’s not true.”

But her blue eyes were filled with doubt, insecurity pulling at her features. You could see her battling against the thoughts in her head—the ones that always whispered she wasn’t enough, that she was too complicated, too hard to love.

The room fell into a heavy silence, only the soft hum of the city outside filling the air. Your heart ached seeing her like this, the strong, confident Billie you adored looking so vulnerable and afraid of losing you.

Slowly, you stepped forward, gently cupping her face in your hands. “Billie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t think before I spoke, and it was wrong of me. You are not too much to deal with, not at all. I love every single part of you—your intensity, your passion, your vulnerability. I’m here for it all. I’m here for you.”

Her eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of deception, any sign that you didn’t mean what you were saying. But all she found was sincerity.

“I’m scared,” Billie admitted, voice trembling. “Scared you’ll leave when things get hard.”

Your heart broke hearing her say that. You pulled her close, wrapping your arms around her tightly, her head resting against your chest. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, Bill. No matter what.”

She was silent for a moment, just breathing in your scent, letting your warmth soothe her aching heart. Slowly, she relaxed against you, the tension melting away.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice small but filled with hope. “I trust you.”

You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, gently stroking her hair. “We’ll get through this, together. Always.”

And in that moment, with your arms around her and her heart open again, the world felt right. You held each other tightly, knowing that no matter how bad things got, your love would be enough to carry you both through.

a/n: Wait, I wrote green eyes instead of blue, i’m so embarrassed bro, im sorryyyyy, Thanks to the person who let me know bc 😭😭, I js be thinking abt other ppl mbbb

#billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x reader

110 notes · View notes

smoshyourheadin · 5 months ago

Note

yay!!!!!! mother is back!!!!!!

could i request a spencer agnew x reader where they meet at a bar and spencer ends up taking the reader home and it ends however you want

Butterflies That Flutter By

pairing: spencer agnew x f!reader

a/n: I. LOVE. THIS. anon u cooked w this. i went CRAZAAAAY!! two posts in one night who am i!! also sorry if u wanted smut i don’t feel comfortable writing it for real ppl!! charachters i can consider it tho ;)

warnings: if u don’t like mentions of alcohol or just a bar setting then this probably isn’t for u!! i’m sure ill catch you at another time tho <3

requests r open <33

saturdays are when you thrive. going out with all your college friends was just tradition at this point.

sitting at the bar in between anna and courtney, you complain about another failed date you had recently.

“ugh, he was just the worst! he was talking about his podcast the whole time, and then asked me to go back to his place? what do men expect me to say after that. ‘oh yes you talking about your alpha male, gym, i hate women podcast really made me so attracted to you’ like come on!” you turn to anna who’s laughing at you, with a sad stare, and she then is quick to put a hand on your shoulder.

“it’s okay! im sure you’ll find your man soon. isn’t court trying to set you up with that guy from her work?” she says to you, cocking her head to the side slightly.

courtney then chimes in, “yes! oh my gosh, her and spencer are literally perfect for each other! you need to meet him soon, you’ll love him!” she says with a wide smile.

“i mean, he is pretty cute…” you trail off.

courtney had been trying to set you and her friend spencer up for weeks now, and as she continued to gush about how spencer would appreciate your nerdiness and how you would adore his, you feel a tug of curiosity. ignoring the conversation for a moment, you make your way to the old street fighter arcade machine at the end of the bar. the familiar sounds of the game fill your ears as you slip a coin into the slot, your fingers itching to take control of your favorite character - ryu.

as you focus on the game, your mind drifts to the idea of meeting spencer. would he really be as perfect for you as courtney says? The thought lingers in your mind a bit as you unleash a flurry of moves on the joystick, losing yourself in the focus.

as you're deeply engrossed in the game, spencer enters the bar, scanning the room for courtney. spotting her animatedly chatting with anna, he makes his way over, a small smile playing on his lips. courtney notices him approaching and waves him over eagerly.

"hey, spencer! glad you could make it," she greets him with enthusiasm, nudging anna to make space for him between them.

"hey, court, thanks for inviting me!" spencer replies, returning her smile. his eyes then wander around the bar, landing on you as you fiercely battle your way through the arcade game.

courtney follows his gaze and grins mischievously. "oh, hey, look who's here! it's the girl i've been telling you about," she says, motioning towards you.

spencer's interest piques, and he watches you play for a moment, impressed by your technique. he can't help but notice how focused you are, your determination evident in every move you make. with a newfound curiosity, he watches in awe as you skillfully defeat everyone you fight with ease.

“hey…” you whip your head around and stand up straight from your practically bent over pose, as you hear courtney’s voice from behind you.

there, stood next to her, is possibly the most attractive man you’d ever seen.

he’s got beautiful brown eyes, and dark curly hair. with glasses. oh my. he’s dressed in slacks, tattered old vans, a flannel, and an old work jacket.

“um, hi court.” is all you can muster up to say to her.

“this is spencer, spencer this is the woman of your dreams!” she giggles.

spencer glares at her, but then smiles sincerely at you.

“so, street fighter, huh? you've got some serious skills," spencer remarked, impressed by your gameplay.

you glanced over at him, offering a small smile in return. "thanks! it's one of my favorite games. i've been playing since i was a kid. i think it’s one of the main reasons i decided to be a game developer."

courtney takes this opportunity to slip away from you both, leaving you to geek out together, and she rushes over to anna

“i told you! twenty bucks says they leave together!” she grins.

“you are so on!” anna replies.

across the bar, you and spencer are chatting it up, both leant against the wall near the machine.

spencer takes a sip of his drink before leaning in. "so, who's your main in street fighter?"

you grin, a rush of excitement at the chance to talk about your favorite character. "call me basic, but definitely ryu! i love his playstyle, and his hadoukens! they’re pretty gnarly."

"classic choice," spencer replied with a nod of approval. "i’m more of a ken guy myself. gotta respect the fiery spirit, you know?"

you giggle, nodding in agreement. "yeah, ken's cool. those shoryukens can really mess up the game though.”

he smiles at your reply, and the conversation flows on. you find yourself talking to him for the better part of an hour, eventually sitting at the bar with him.

“um, you don’t have to say yes,” he says, turning to you. “but, would you want to come back to my place?”

you smile at him, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear “i’d like that.”

and so, you find yourself walking back to spencer’s apartment and talking to him about how much you love zelda.

stepping into his apartment, you’re immediately greeted by an array of nerdy decorations that cover every corner. posters of classic video game characters lined the walls, and shelves filled with action figures and memorabilia from various fandoms.

"wow, you have quite the collection!" you exclaimed, taking in the sight with wide eyes.

spencer chuckles nervously with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his head. "yeah, i might have gone a little overboard."

but to you, it’s like stepping into a treasure trove of nostalgia, and honestly? you were jealous. you eagerly made your way around the room, pointing out your favorite pieces and telling him about the games and shows you loved most.

"that's a limited edition link figurine, right?" you ask, pointing to a display on one of the shelves.

spencer nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "yeah, it's one of my prized possessions! i also have a few special edition zelda figures."

as you continue to explore, spencer watches you with a mixture of awe and admiration. he had never met someone who shared his passion for all things nerdy quite like you did. It felt surreal to have someone in his space who not only appreciated but genuinely enjoyed his interests.

before long, the initial awkwardness of the invitation fades away, replaced by a comfortable ease as you bond over your shared love for video games, movies, and everything in between.

the night continues, and you end up making him watch your favourite film - perfect blue, which you watch in comfortable silence.

as the credits roll, you stretch out comfortably on spencer's couch, feeling the pleasant weight of sleep pulling at your eyelids. the movie is intense, and you’re exhausted from the day's excitement.

spencer glances over at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he noticed your drooping eyelids. he gently reached for the remote and turned off the playstation you were using to watch it, casting the room into a soothing darkness.

"you tired?" he asks, his voice low and gentle.

you nod sleepily, snuggling into the cushions. "yeah, it's been a long day. sorry for almost falling asleep on you."

spencer chuckles softly, shaking his head. "don't apologize. it's actually kind of nice having someone to watch movies with, even if they fall asleep halfway through."

you smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. despite only meeting him tonight, you already feel a sense of comfort in his presence.

with a contented sigh, you let yourself drift off, the steady rhythm of spencer's heartbeat beneath you lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

later that night, as you sleep soundly against him, spencer can’t resist taking a picture of you, your peaceful expression illuminated by the soft glow of the tv’s ‘no signal’ screen. he texts it to courtney with a simple message: "she isn't too bad."

as he presses send, a smile tuggs at the corners of his lips.

courtney opens the message to see your face, her jaw dropping. she closes the messages from spencer, and immediatley texts anna,

‘u owe me 20 ;)’

#smoshyourheadin #amanda lehan canto #angela giarratana #arasha lalani #courtney miller #shayne topp #spencer agnew #smosh #spencer agnew x reader #i love this #slayed

133 notes · View notes

hazbinhotelxreader · 8 months ago

Text

A/n: I writers block bad. Like- i need to do requests but can't- also, no pictures cause its too many ppl. (i listened to we don't talk about Bruno while writing this)

Info: reader is gender neutral

Fighting headcannons with (some) the Hazbin girls!

Characters: Carmilla Carmine/Velvette/Charlie/Vaggie

Genre: angst/slight fluff

Carmilla Carmine: She isn't one to fight, she's not someone to lose her composer over something little or not worth fighting for. But, she will argue if it's about something really important that you guys can't agree on. For example, if she wants to keep the dead exorcist thing a secret and you don't. Then there would be a lot of arguing and fighting that night, or even in the morning the following day if it' really bad. She'll also fight about wanting to keep you or her daughters safe if something dangerous is happening and you’re not hearing her out. She doesn't want to hurt you, she wants to just keep you and her girls safe.

Velvette: You two usually have small squabbles or fights, not full on yelling and screaming fights. But when you do have a big fight like that. It usually lasts from as short as five minutes or as long as a few days. Of course, it doesn’t mean you fight every single minute of the day, it just means you two will be salty and bitchy towards each other and break out into random fight on those days. There has been many times you two have broke up, had hate sex, and got back together.

Charlie: Fights are extremely rare. She’s not one to yell or raise her voice. She would rather handle everything calmly and politely. I’d say the only times she’ll raise her voice or yell at you is when she’s REALLY stressed- like maybe after Heaven doesn’t listen. Adam just straight up disrespects her, or when her mother won’t show up. Then she’ll yell and raise her voice. It won’t be specifically towards you, like the problem isn’t caused by you, but she’ll get madder if you yell back, or she’ll get sad and give you space, it really depends on what you’re fighting about. She’ll also raise her voice at you if you put yourself in to much danger. But she’ll quickly turn soft and hug you. She always feels really bad after you two fight, even if it isn’t always her fault only. Expect a lot of apology gifts (and a song if you’re lucky).

Vaggie: She tries her best not to fight. She doesn’t like to, but she gets so stressed, overwhelmed, and mad and can’t help it. Let’s be honest, she seems like she has anger issues and a low self esteem. So she gets irritated often. She wouldn’t start a fight for no reason of course, she will have light arguments with you more often rather than big fights, and the arguments aren’t that harsh either. I feel like she’d only get into a large fight if you were to reckless, she’s just scared of losing you. She’d feel so bad after though, she’ll apologize and say everything she did wrong, then you’ll cuddle for the rest of the night.

A/n: I’m not sure if these are OOC…cause I haven’t been on here for a while and forgot how the characters act a little 😭😭. Anyways I’m trying to post again!

239 notes · View notes

thatdeadaquarius · 2 years ago

Text

Genshin Sagau (?) Isekai Brainrot - Language

I've seen like ONE small kinda related Genshin Sagau/isekai idea for this but I wanted more of it so BAD

It’s not the most interesting thing in the world, it’s about our modern vernacular vs. Teyvat's flowery speech

Pls feel free to expand on or add to this pLEASE TAG ME IF U DO IM STARVING OUT HERE :)))

So I saw someone write like one sentence abt this (can’t remember who :( sorry I’ll update if I find them ) or like a brutally honest version??

But I also took inspo from how fucking wordy and long conversations that are in Genshin, even with ppl like Xiao (the rude boy that he is) or even Tighnari who gets to the point pretty quickly

It goes smth like:

So, all of Teyvet, (esp ppl like Zhongli 💀 u know the ones) talk,, flowery.

Like, the whole Pride and Prejudice style speaking, euphemisms, metaphors, for some characters (or Npcs) its full on POETRY.

Lookin’ at you Kazuha.

And going off of any variation of you being the Creator, (or otherwise an older mythical being?), they could have this thing where the older a deity/mythical thingy is, the simpler the speech.

Kinda makes sense to them y’know? The older beings are serious, commanding, intimidating

And nothing says "I'm ancient as fuck and powerful as fuck" like simple blunt speech.

And being closer to the literal creation of the world, language would understandably be less complex (I’m assuming it’s the same as in human cultures in our world's history)

Like literally look at our fantasy typical stories, plenty of them have a dragon or ancient god that speaks in extremes, like so flowery its a metaphor, or so bluntly its startling (ie, "Be not afraid." "I am all powerful." etc etc)

And so, ancient powerful being = direct/blunt speech

…

...Y'know,, almost like our modern vernacular.

Like, part of some of our modern day comedy is purely based on a sentence being delivered bluntly for impact

Hell our ads and videos and content in general we always want to get to the point, to say things simply

So with this in mind, even if you try to deny being the Creator, they might still think you are, or at least a more minor ancient deity/creature

(like the Seven Sovereigns/Phanes/Shades/etc. for example would sound eerily modern or at least easy for you to understand bc of this trait lol)

(Also I'm just assuming u know Genshin lore enough to know what I meant by that ^)

____

So, I love the AU where you just,, hitch a ride with the traveler like Paimon bc u start at the "beginning of the game",

And with every person you meet, you're like, "Ok, no, I promise this is just how my country/world speaks, it's not like that, I'm not some ancient deity…"

And They're all like 🤨🤨🤨 "Well, fine traveler and companions, why does your speech sound so simplistic and sharp? Surely, you do not expect me to truly believe you.."

You: "Please I just talk like this, I'm a regular human."

Them: "Alright, if it is as you say,, you wish to not experience being "known" yes? Fear not, I will keep your secrets close to my chest."

You: "No, for the last time, that's not-"

And it just keeps happening, lol

(srry I tried my best at emulate Genshin language + flowery speech idk how to do it)

Like maybe you would just sound weird or like a foreigner speaking y’know in simpler sentences bc they don't know the language as well as native speakers, at least that could be how you sound to NPCs and ppl who don’t know abt simpler speech meaning

...But the Adepti? Zhongli?? Barbatos maybe??? Even the Aranara??? Those who are old enough to maybe have heard how older beings speak or at least have knowledge of how they should speak/sound??

You couldn’t have predicted how shocked their faces were the second you opened you’re mouth…

Sumeru scholars would freak tf out i stg, as soon as you meet Haypasia, she's already losing it, first the Irminsul progress, now this ancient being/Creator?? Girlie thinks its a sign lmao

(I’m an Aether lover, and also bc I think Lumine looks badass as Abyss ruler, so I’m gonna go with Aether for traveler sorry Lumine mains love yall T-T)

You, and Aether being equally confused at first pLEASE 😭

lets say he speaks a little more fluffy than you at least, after all I’m assuming bc of the outfit that he’s from a fantasy-like place, and his replies can be a little fluffy like Teyvat’s residents, so he kinda fits in, kinda like everybody assumes he's just from another country when he gets to a new nation (at least that’s what I think happens??)

Like after (maybe Diluc?) Lisa, Kaeya, Venti, and Jean (who I think would all be knowledgeable, thru diff means, about this enough to maybe recognize the simpler speech = ancient god thing)

ALL reacted shocked as hell at hearing you talk, and would probably explain (or Paimon before then?) in that infuriatingly roundabout way, that you would usually skip a couple dialogue boxes just to avoid bc yOU ALREADY GOT THE POINT or alternatively WHATS THE POINT HERE?? JUST SAY IT, WHATS THE COMMISSION/QUEST FOR/WHAT DO I DO??

(Those blue highlights be savin my impatient life, and i actually like lore stuff 💀)

Oh that’s also another frustration. For you.

It would drive me crazy if I had to wait like,, 2-3 minutes for ppl to explain what they ate for dinner or sm shit

Like, now imagine that’s everyone, about everything.

You don’t know how anything gets done in battles or wars, like you need faster communication for that right??💀

Anyway, you, Aether and Paimon decide you just gotta not talk when you first meet people or like,, make sure you're gonna be around that person for a while so you don’t have to possibly get someone over the shock of your speech every time you guys talk to people 😭 that'd be so miserable I can already tell,,

Like at first, every convo ya’ll have had with people who recognize that direct speech trait as a thing, would take at least 10 minutes to finish talking about it/being shocked,,

It got so old so fast.

(Like I already can’t communicate that good with ppl irl bc I misunderstand them, or they do me, or they just dont get what I mean, and as my friends put it, which I think would fit here for any language shenanigans we go thru in Teyvat, "A Shakespearean level of misunderstanding, hilarious but such a downward spiral to watch, it just gets more and more ridiculous as it goes on...")

On another note, making fun of someone would be so fucking funny,

I’d like to give myself the benefit of the doubt that many characters, after getting used to your speech, would generally understand you (even if they always notice it, like an accent) and would actually rlly love hearing insults or even just generally how you would put things

(like maybe treating this almost like those vids of ppl with non-native english speaknig relatives/parents and its the most hilarious thing to watch them, usually get pissed 😭, at their kid, if u dont know what I mean look up on tiktok or smth)

And You just come off like those insults where you dont even use cuss words, you just like, drag queen read them into never showing their face again, and you did it in so few words!!

They're amazed and oh,

you've become the John Mulaney of Teyvat

(Bad examples include:

Fontaine inventor: "...And I shall call my invention, crocks!"

You: "I wouldn't even be cremated in those." )

*Aether crying laughing in the background bc he never knows what you’re gonna say next, and Paimon's jaw dropped so hard

JFC this post is so long sorry, I probably will spam with a Part 2 but let me know if you’re interested in hearing more anyway!!

Thanks for reading this rambling!!

Or send in asks abt this 👀

Cheers,

🌒🌊🌧Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

#genshin sagau ideas #sagau #isekai #genshin god reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #genshin sagau #genshin isekai #going feral #genshin brainrot #genshin au

1K notes · View notes

friedbaekhyunandeggso · 2 years ago

Text

found you

pairing: gojo satoru x female oc (ara natsuna) [p.s. i tried to keep her features ambiguous asf. i just suck at writing 1st/2nd person, the only features i mentioned r big titties & like a shorter height but PLS envision whoever u want]

tropes: psycho! rival! athlete! yandere! gojo x introvert! booksmart! oc (this part of the one-shot takes place in high school but if the ppl want more i have ideas for a mid/late twenties time-jump - update: i've decided to make a miniseries of this now but this part/chapter can be read as a standalone)

warnings: 18+ only babes, profanity, mentions of parental abuse (verbal & physical), stalking/possessive themes, mentions of alcohol & drugs (m0lly, w33d), hypothermia (LOL jus read & find out), drug overdose, pet-names (princess, kitten), dub/non-consented sex, choking (if u squint), nipple play, begging, spitting (f receiving), dry humping, virginity loss, sadism, rough sex, creampie (pls don't b silly & cover ur willy irl)

word count/plot: [18.4k!] ara catches gojo's attention when news breaks that she is the top academically ranked student in their grade. he is ranked second. he tries to befriend her but she ignores him. despite her obvious disinterest, his obsession begins...

a/n: first time posting something like this in a while. gojo is a huge red-flag, but jus a gentle reminder to y'all to never let no man treat u like this irl pUHLeASE ! ik i wrote this but i hate romanticizing psycho behavior (i hate & love it-its jus oddly fun 2 write)

I never wanted his attention.

In fact, I never wanted anybody’s attention.

Mrs. Finch stood at the front of the classroom. Most of the students were busy-lost in their own conversations as she cleared her throat multiple times before finally losing it when she slammed her hand down on the table before her.

The room went silent.

“There we go.” she said, with a lopsided smile-though the annoyance was clear in her gaze.

“Sorry, Mrs. Finch, didn’t mean to ruffle up your feathers.” Gojo’s smooth voice lilted from the center of the classroom.

The classroom broke out in laughter. It felt almost exaggerated to Ara’s ears, who merely continued to stare straight at Mrs. Finch through half-lidded eyes. Nothing about Gojo Satoru was amusing to her but ever since he moved to our town freshman year of high school, he’s owned the students’ attention ever since. His popularity only grew by leaps and bounds over the years.

Maybe it was his looks, his name, his athletic skill–she didn’t want to know or care. There were enough rich, insolent snobs at this academy so he fit right in.

“Satoru, as much as I love your bird jokes,” Mrs. Finch’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “The time to stop your chirping is now.”

Gojo merely chuckled into his hand.

She held up a piece of paper, “Alright, as your homeroom teacher I am expected to share this with you all. As you are all aware, you are seniors. Next year, most of you will be happily hopping off to whichever college or university you applied to–hopefully somewhere far, far away,” -her eyes lingering on Gojo, who merely smiled brightly in return- “But as your high school careers almost come to an end, there is one more thing I know many students are curious to know about. Your rank.”

“Obviously, since this is the beginning of the school year there is a chance that this rank could change but here is the academic ranking of your graduating class as of today. I’m only going to be reading off twenty students' names on this list because the top twenty students are the only ones who will be specially commemorated on graduation day. As well as the valedictorian and salutatorian–who will also be allowed to say speeches. If you are not on this list and would like to know your rank, please speak to me after.”

She cleared her throat, “Alright, first in rank is–”

Gojo leaned back in his seat, a subtle smirk gracing his lips as he awaited his name.

“Ara Natsuna.”

Suddenly, everyone’s head faced her and she wished she didn’t exist. She stared down at her hands on the desk-countenance neutral-but if anyone was looking closely they would notice that her shoulders were incredibly tense; her elbows were almost digging into the desk from nerves.

A few claps arose, along with a few murmurs before Mrs. Finch continued.

“Second in ranking, Satoru Gojo.”

The classroom erupted in cheer. His best friend, Geto-who was seated right behind him-leaned forward in his seat to playfully tousle Gojo’s platinum hair. But Gojo barely responded, only offering his fellow fans a half-hearted smile while nonchalantly crossing his arms.

As Mrs. Finch continued to list off names, this growing uneasiness nagged at her. She didn’t understand–of course, she was expecting a high rank. Maybe first rank was a bit of a surprise but she knew she’d earned it.

So what is this feeling?

She hadn’t made eye contact with anyone ever since her name was announced, still continuing to diligently stare at her linked hands on the desk as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

But she raised her head to find the source of this sixth sense bugging at her.

Her eyes were met with his crystalline, cerulean blue eyes–staring at her with absolutely no emotion. It was the most serious she had ever seen him. Something about his stare was so intense, she just froze.

If it was possible for eyes to swallow someone up, she was sure she would’ve disintegrated there and then.

Her brows furrowed quizzically before she quickly looked away. She swallowed hard, shaking her head imperceptibly–in attempt to ignore her buzzing nerves.

That was the first time he looked at me.

I wish it was the last.

She closed her locker room door and there he was, leaning against the locker beside her own as if he owned it. She nearly jumped.

He smiled. She wasn’t unfamiliar with his dazzling smile. It was pasted all over the schools’ walls, newspaper and television. She didn’t need to see it all up close but… she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t more handsome in person.

“Hi Ara.”

He was quite bold for using her first name already.

But it was back–that buzzing sensation that whispered along her skin when she’d first locked eyes with him. Now that he was close and peering at her again-with what she couldn’t help but identify as false geniality-she immediately identified what the rapidly growing knot in her stomach was telling her.

It was a sense of foreboding.

Obviously, he was trouble. Anyone with brain cells would know that. He was the kind of trouble that easily drew in girls and only made the guys want to join in on his fun.

But that wasn’t what her instincts were telling her. Her instincts were telling her to stay far, far away from him. That he wasn’t just coming to her for some fun, lighthearted conversation–or whatever he was trying to come across as.

He was here for something else.

And if there was one thing Ara trusted, it was her gut feeling.

Besides, she couldn’t imagine anything useful actually coming out of his glossy lips anyway.

He raised a white eyebrow, his smile only widening as she stared.

Just as he opened his mouth, she bent down and lifted her backpack–hastily throwing it over her shoulder before turning around. She headed towards the school exit, she couldn’t miss her bus.

“What-!” his astonished voice echoed in the empty hallway, “Is it because I called you by your first name?”

She didn’t bother turning around, only sending him a glance when she’d turned into another hall. It seems his friends had caught up to him–or maybe they’d been nearby. Maybe him talking to her was a set-up, she couldn’t know.

His friends didn’t act like it’d been a set up though, they didn’t even look at her. Like everyone else.

Despite his friends being engaged in quite the boisterous conversation, his eyes were locked on her. His smile nowhere to be seen.

I should’ve switched schools then.

She yawned before closing her locker door and nearly going into cardiac arrest when she saw him leaning on the locker next hers again.

His white hair was left ruffled-as usual-and the crisp blue blazer that was the school’s boy uniform suited him a lot more than 99% of the school’s male population.

He smiled, “Good Morning, Natsuna.” he greeted.

She glanced around the hall to see that there were only a few people down the end of the hallway. Most had gone into their homerooms already–although it was technically a little early. There were still five minutes until all the students were required to be in homeroom.

He let out an amused chuckle, “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” he asked, disbelief coating his tone.

She shot him a look before readjusting her backpack strap over shoulder. She was surprised he was still bothering with her.

She turned around and headed towards their homeroom. He followed her.

“Why won’t you talk to me? I haven’t even done anything to you–have I?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Suddenly she stopped before their homeroom door. His tall frame nearly bumped into her.

“What’re you stopping for?” he asked.

She turned around and her eyes widened as she looked up at him. She’d already known he was tall but up close, it was even more obvious. At 5’3, he stood at a considerable height before her–being a foot taller.

He tilted his head, his blazing blue eyes curious as he searched her face.

He raised his hand and right before he could make contact, she quickly jumped back–the door behind her suddenly swinging open and Geto stepped out. She scurried out of his way.

“Satoru, there you are. Get in here.” Geto reached out and grabbed Gojo’s arm, pulling him into homeroom.

Gojo glanced back at her, “Wait–”

“What were you doin’ standing out there by yourself..” Geto’s voice trailed off when the homeroom door shut behind them.

She sighed in relief. There was no way she was going to walk into homeroom with Gojo. She was sure to be barraged with questions or–more likely, get weird looks from the other girls. She didn’t need that attention.

She stepped out of her last class a little later than usual. She had stopped to ask the teacher a question but then had gotten wrapped into a full blown conversation instead. It was one of those elderly teachers that students rarely talked to so she felt bad attempting to cut the conversation short.

But she had to make sure she didn’t miss the bus.

Just as she stepped out of the classroom, Gojo stood outside her class.

How the hel–

“Hi, Natsuna.” he greeted, energetically. His folded arms dropping as she walked right past him.

He followed behind her.

“I found out a lot about you today.”

She glanced around at the handful of students in the hall. A few glanced their way, giving curious looks. A student from the basketball team yelled out Gojo’s name in greeting.

“Yo!” Gojo responded, quickly dapping him up before catching up to her once more.

She continued to religiously ignore him as she walked.

“Don’t you want to hear what I found out?” he pressed before easily walking in stride with her–despite her fast walking.

When she didn’t respond, he continued. “Your birthday is in November—a month before mine. You like the color purple–pastel purple, specifically. Good taste, by the way. I look great in that color–”

She hastily put in her locker code before swinging it open. He was still going on as he leaned against the locker beside hers.

“You’ve lived in this town since forever. You don’t do any extracurriculars. You have one friend, Millie, who’s surprisingly talkative—”

She slammed her locker door shut.

He raised a brow, “Oo, feisty.”

She glanced at him-scowl on her lips until her eyes widened–Fuck, I’m gonna be late for the bus.

She suddenly turned on her heel and ran.

“Wait–”

But she was too far down the hall by the time he called out. Wasn’t like she was going to listen to him anyway.

He sighed before waving his hand and speaking-in a rather cherry voice, “I’ll tell what more I learned tomorrow!”

Is he serious? Can he not take a hint?

She was too annoyed by her tardiness to care much until she ran outside to see the buses leaving one by one. Her heart dropped.

No, no, no.

Her eyes widened as she saw her bus was one of the first in the line up to leave. Her heart dropped to stomach.

No, no, no.

But it was too late. Looks like there was no other choice…

Her hand was shaky as she reached into her pocket to take out her phone. She whispered a quick prayer before holding the phone to her ear. He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Baba..”

It was just as she expected.

“Home, School, Home, School. It’s such a simple fucking routine–why don’t you get it by now? Just get on the damn bus on time!”

He slammed the door shut behind himself. She sobbed as she crawled into a ball on her bed.

“Can’t do anything fucking right!” His yelling audible through the door.

She continued to cry on the bed. Her stomach hurt from where her father had kicked her. Her cheek pounding from his slap. This was why she hated asking for favors. Her Dad never took it well. She was always a nuisance.

Always.

And yet he expected nothing but perfection from her. Getting an A- on an assignment would most likely result in the same.

Can’t do anything fucking right.

His harsh words echoed in her mind. It seemed nothing she did ever made him happy. She’d wanted to tell him that she was ranked first in her grade but the moment she stepped into his car the atmosphere was suffocating. She knew it was gonna be, but she thought… she thought maybe she could dampen the mood by telling him.

But, boy, had she been wrong. The verbal abuse started the second she stepped into the car.

Then the physical abuse when they reached home.

Now he was off back to work–probably going to be back in the evening. Her Mom was still out of the country; visiting her lovely, accolade-ridden family that she tried so hard to impress despite being a housewife.

It wouldn’t have even made a difference had she been here. She took his abuse all the same–turning a blind eye whenever he did the same to her.

Divorce is not an option. Her Mom would constantly say, back in the day when Ara used to beg on her knees for her to leave him.

Her body shook as she sobbed. She grabbed the pillow and screamed into it, until her throat was dry and scratchy. Til the pain made her numb to emotion.

She entered homeroom early, in attempt to avoid the white haired boy that always seemed to find her at her locker somehow. She wasn’t in the mood to have someone talk at her today–or ever, in fact.

But, to her surprise, Geto was in homeroom too. His dark hair up in his typical smooth yet slightly messy knot, with a few strands hovering over his forehead. His broad shoulders always seemed so pronounced in the school uniform. He sat completely relaxed in his seat, phone in hand.

His dark eyes flickered up to her when she entered.

She swallowed, quickly looking away before heading to her seat. She didn’t need to look to know he was watching her.

She sat in her seat, hastily pulling out one of the paperback books that she was supposed to read for an assignment. She’d already finished reading the assigned chapters but she wanted to get ahead.

As she flipped through the book to find where she left off, Geto’s deep voice suddenly rang out, “Satoru is curious about you.”

She froze, her fingers tightening around the page she was about to flip. She’d spoken to Geto before, he’d been in some of her classes so they’d randomly get paired together sometimes. There wasn’t much between them beyond that.

She glanced over at him, “Tell him to leave me alon–”

The door suddenly swung open and Gojo entered, his hands over his knees as he panted.

“Suguru, have you seen–” his piercing blue eyes suddenly landed on her and then at Geto.

He froze when he realized that he’d heard a feminine voice speaking when he’d entered the room. And since Geto was the only other person here…

A frown graced his features, “So you can talk to him but not to me?” he demanded.

Before she felt required to answer his absurd question, people began to pour into the room–including Mrs. Finch.

“Well, well, well, look who’s early.” she grumbled as she eyed Gojo. Ara couldn’t help but feel as though her and Mrs.Finch were the only two people who viewed Gojo the same–a pest.

For once, he didn’t take the bait and instead sat down in his seat with a huff. A pout on his lips as he crossed his arms.

Ara narrowed her eyes at the sight before dutifully turning back to read her book.

Her thoughts wandered as she questioned what his deal was..

It was subtle at first.

Ara walked out of the cafeteria, her tray of food in hand. She never sat in the cafeteria. She didn’t have any friends so what was the point. Well–Millie didn’t have the same lunch time as her this year and even if she did, it was sometimes easier to eat by herself.

Millie’s friends didn’t talk about things she could relate to anyway. Millie was funner to talk to one on one–but that was just her opinion.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice when she’d turned the corner in the hall and bumped into someone.

“Shit.” she muttered, as her tray of food fell straight to the floor.

“Oh fuck.. I’m so sorry.”

She looked up to see Austin. He was in her Anatomy class. They hadn’t spoken too much before but… she would be lying if she said she didn’t find him interesting. He was kinda like her, reserved, but maybe a little more sociable. Puberty had also hit him like a truck.

He’d grown much taller and he seemed to be filling out a bit more. His hair had grown out to his shoulders and it looked good, especially with that low man-bun hairstyle he was sporting nowadays.

She’d never gain the courage to tell him that though.

They both bent down to reach for the tray at the same time. Their hands touched.

“Oh.” he muttered, while they both withdrew their hands.

He glanced at her to see that she looked semi-embarrassed. The moment she caught his eye she gave him a small smile.

“Y-you’re fine.” she reassured him–though she wished she had the courage to tell him that she meant that in more than one way.

He blinked, “You sure? I could buy you lunch if you want? I feel bad.”

She shook her head, “Don’t worry about it.”

She glanced down at the mess on the floor, “I’ll just go get the custodian.”

“Wait, no–I’ll do that. It’s the least I can do after wasting your lunch.” he said.

Just as he turned to head off, he suddenly turned back.

“A-are you sure I can’t buy you anything? Seriously,” he fished out a five dollar bill from his pocket, “Please take this and at least get something from the vending machine.”

She raised her hands slightly and shook them, “Don’t worry about it.”

He outstretched his hand with the bill, “Please, just take it. It’ll make me feel like less of an ass.”

She laughed slightly, “You’re not an ass.”

He waved the five dollar bill in his hand once more and she eyed it wearily–before snatching it.

“Fine.”

There was a tinge of shyness in the attractive smile that spread across his lips, “Thanks, Ara.”

She pocketed the five dollar bill with a shake of her head. He was nicer than she thought. After he joined the Basketball team last year she expected him to adopt the typical jock attitude but it seemed he was still himself.

She watched him jog off to find a custodian.

She turned slightly to brush off any crumbs that may have fallen on her uniform but it seemed she was in the clear.

After giving her uniform one last dust off, she glanced up. A frown on her lips. There it was again. That feeling…

That intense nagging feeling in the back of her mind, as if trying to tell her something in a language that she couldn’t understand. She’d felt it before but… Gosh, it was so uncomfortable. Her stomach flip flopped with anxiety as she glanced around for the source–

Her eyes widened when she looked down the end of the hall to see a familiar tall, white-haired boy staring directly at her. He stood as still as a statue.

The nauseous feeling somehow disappeared the second she locked eyes with him.

She blinked before frowning. Ugh, why’d he have to show up?

She turned and headed towards the library, internally praying that the vending machine in the library still worked.

Austin didn’t come to school the next day.

“A-austin?” she said–the following day when he’d come back to class.

He stopped in the midst of packing his books before slowly looking at her. The bell had just rang moments prior, everyone had quickly exited the classroom but them.

His glance was short-almost hesitant-as he froze.

She eyed the bandage wrapped around his hand before asking, “Are you okay? How’d that happen?”

“Broke my hand during basketball practice.” he mumbled while packing his bag at a rather unwarranted pace.

“Oh–well, um, I hope you get better.”

“Thanks.” he said, curtly, before throwing his backpack over one shoulder and fast-walking out of the classroom.

He never spoke to me again.

Just as she adjusted her backpack straps over her shoulders, a white flower was suddenly placed in the open locker before her.

Her eyes widened before she looked over to see Gojo beside her.

His white hair appeared damp, as if he’d just showered. His indigo blue blazer folded haphazardly over his shoulder while the top few buttons of his dress-shirt were left unbuttoned. His proximity didn’t leave her much choice but to inhale his magnetic cologne.

“White hibiscus flowers, your favorite right?”

She glanced back at the single white flower that now rested atop her books in her locker. It was still attached to its stem. It was her favorite–specifically ones with red in the middle, which was exactly the kind he brought.

She liked the look of the red center against the white because it reminded her how the heart was the center of the soul; how emotions make one’s body impure–so it bleeds through its core to the rest of the flower.

At her dumbfounded expression, he smiled.

“I’ve been learning. Millie’s been telling me all about you.”

Ara’s jaw locked.

His hands slipped into his pockets, “Your favorite classes are physics and art. Your favorite teacher is Mrs. Lindsor—I don’t know how,” his nose scrunched disapprovingly, “You like cats. You’ve never been in a relationship before. You’re parents are kinda strict—“

Suddenly he was shoved into the lockers. Her hands gripping his collar as she stared at him with a stern expression.

Her face twisted with agitation as she spat, “Stop talking to my friend about me.”

His eyes widened as he held his hands up, “She speaks.”

Her expression became more enraged as the corner of his lip curled into an attractive grin. Her hands clenched into fists at his collar.

He tilted his head, “Oh? You want to hit me?”

His tongue deftly ran over his bottom lip, “Go ahead.”

When she didn’t move, he only egged her on further, “C’mon, hit me. Do whatever you want.”

A flicker of confusion flashed along her face. As much as she was tempted to… she didn’t trust him. Not one bit.

Why does he want me to? Her grip on his shirt loosened in hesitance.

Suddenly something malicious flashed within his eccentric eyes and before she knew it, he was cupping her face in his hands–forcing her to keep her eyes on him.

“Do whatever you want so I can do whatever I want.”

His words melted like butter on her skin–but if butter was warm, why did she feel so cold? Why did goosebumps arise on her skin?

Her insides churned as she tore herself away from him.

“Stop doing this bullshit. It’s not cute, a-and leave my friend out of this.”

She hated how he looked at her like that–as if she were the most amusing thing he’d ever laid eyes on, “I wouldn’t have to talk to her if you talked to me, you know.”

She squinted, “Are you okay? Seriously-what are you getting out of this?”

“You.” he said simply, as if that were the most logical answer, “I want you.”

Her eyes narrowed further–this had to be some kind of joke. “You’re not funny.” she murmured.

He bent over slightly as he laughed. His laugh was airy and boyish–the kind of laugh that one could easily be drawn to, if she hadn’t found something heavily off about it.

“I’m not joking, Ara.”

He stood up straight after picking his fallen blazer off of the floor. When she’d shoved him, it had slipped from its haphazard placement over his shoulder.

He looked down at her, his blue eyes incredibly mystifying as he hunched before her to look her eye to eye–his index finger holding the collar of his blazer over his shoulder while his other hand was wedged in his pocket.

“Ara.. I can call you that now, right? Now that we’re talkin’ “

She stumbled backward, “We’re not talking. Just leave me alone.”

He smirked, “You’ll come around.”

The confidence oozing from his tone would’ve infuriated her, if it didn’t make her feel unsettled to the bone.

She didn’t understand. Where was that likable, comedic Gojo that everyone else saw? Why was this version of him the one she had to meet? Even if she told anyone about this–no one, literally no one–would believe her.

It wasn’t like she had any friends to tell anyway. Well–Millie maybe but Millie herself was now talking to him.

She struggled to find her words, “I- I said, leave me alone.”

He leaned back, taking his hand out of his pocket to loosen his tie as he sighed, “Why are you makin’ this so hard for me.”

She ignored him, stepping around him to close her locker door shut but he stuck his arm out–firmly holding the locker door open by its top edge.

“Fine.” he looked down at her, his blue eyes blazing with mischief as she appeared startled.

He was so close to her, it was hard to breathe.

His voice dropped an octave lower as he added, “But I expect something in return.”

His eyes dropped to her neck when he saw her visibly swallow. The playfulness in his demeanor shifted into something more dominating.

He raised a brow as she stepped back.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“There’s nothing for me to give you.”

He smirked, closing her locker door for her, “Lies.”

She’d missed her bus again. It was an accident–truly, a fucking accident. It wasn’t her fault that her art teacher wanted her to stay after to talk to her about future art-related career paths when they merely were supposed to chat about her recent artwork.

She writhed in pain on her bed, clutching her gut. It felt bruised from the amount of times her Father had kicked her.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair.

She was always her father’s punching bag. Every, damn, time.

She was so sick and tired of it. So angry. She did everything right, everything. But one mistake–one simple fucking mistake–would get him so incredibly triggered. It gave her whiplash everytime.

She was finally at her breaking point. She was done. She was done wallowing in this pitiful fucking mess of her toxic-ass family. Done watching her Mom let her Dad treat them both like pieces of garbage. Tired of nothing changing. She was done.

She just wanted to do something she wanted. Just this once.

She’d talked to Millie on the bus this morning–the only time they ever seemed to talk nowadays but she had mentioned something going on tonight. It was Friday so, there had to be something.

Ara cringed as she reached over to grab her phone from her nightstand. She texted Millie.

A: hey can i come over?

M: r u kidding

M: hell yes, are u even allowed to tho?

A: im gonna sneak out

M: omg no way

M: im like hella shocked rn but hold on, imma use my bros car to pick u up

A: wait don’t stop in front of my house

A: i’m gonna wait at the end of the block

M: bet

A: thanks, lmk when ur here

M: omg im excited, does this mean your coming out tn?

A: yep

M: STOP im hype

M: ok, im omw

Ara put the phone down and sat up. She stared at her wrecked room in silence. It hadn’t been messy until her father had dragged her by the hair into her room from the car. He liked to dramatically throw her shit across the room in the midst of his rages.

She’d gotten used to cleaning his messes, but not tonight.

She grabbed her wallet, phone and keys–stuffing them all into her sweatpants pocket before chewing at her bottom lip diligently as she thought.

The front and back door wasn’t an option, her father had cameras. She’d been contemplating the garage but the longer she thought about it the more hesitant she grew. What if my Dad hears it open? She couldn’t risk it.

She glanced at her window. It looked like that would be her best bet.

She swallowed hard-forcing her nerves down-as she went to the window and shoved it open. She physically winced at the strength that simple action had taken her.

She gave her room one last look before hopping out of the window.

Milie ran the straightener over her hair, “I still can’t believe your here-like what the actual fuck.”

Ara laughed, she was already drunk out of her mind. She’d drunk a couple White Claws and that seemed to be all it took–it was her first time drinking after all.

Millie’s eyes caught Ara’s laugh in the mirror before them. Mille set the straightener down before running her hands through Ara’s hair–smoothing it out further.

“You should smile more often. Your smile’s really pretty.”

Ara set down her white claw before wobblily standing up, “Yeah, yeah. So who’s place are we going tonight?”

Millie smirked, “Nanami’s. His house parties are the fucking best so you picked the best night to sneak out. Nina and her man are gonna pick us up and then we all are gonna go.”

“Nanami Kento?” Ara questioned, “He likes to party?”

“Shoko probably convinced him cuz his house has a heated outdoor pool.”

Ara shrugged, bending over to pick up her White claw again and take another sip. Millie sat at the vanity now, leaning close to the mirror as she applied her lip gloss.

She smacked her lips together, “So.. are you planning on getting your first kiss tonight?”

Ara tilted her head back and finished her canned drink in one gulp. She set the drink down with a giggle.

“Maybe,” she said, before locking eyes with Millie through the mirror and they both laughed.

Millie swiveled around in her stool, “About time, girl! What’re you gonna do if some guy wants to go further?”

She shrugged, “I’m down. Honestly, I’m down to lose my virginity tonight for all I care, I just wanna have fun.”

Millie laughed, “Look at you today! I’m-like-shocked. Are you sure you're Ara? Or did you get possessed?”

“I didn’t do my Physics homework yet.” she mumbled distractedly to herself.

Mille chuckled, now applying extra powder to her face, “Girl, it’s Friday. You have the whole weekend. But please make sure you do it and send it to me cuz there’s no way I’m gonna do it.”

They stood on the porch of Nanami’s mansion. Voices and music could be heard blasting within the house from outside. Ara’s gaze was stuck on the perfect landscaping done on Nanami’s front yard. Her eyes lingering on the white hibiscus flower bushes that were planted outside his house.

They looked so pretty under the moonlight.

Millie gently touched Ara’s arm, catching her attention.

Mille grinned before squealing, “I’m so excited for you to experience your first party.”

Roland snorted, “No one’s gonna know that it’s you.”

His dark eyes looked her up and down, “Honestly, I still don’t believe it.”

Nina placed her hand on her boyfriend's chest. Her and Roland had been dating for two years now. He’d driven them all here–and as much as she was grateful for the ride, she didn’t appreciate his leering gaze at her body, especially with Nina right in front of him.

Nina remained oblivious, “Listen, Straight A students need to have some fun too. No one stays boring forever.”

Sober Ara might’ve had different words to say but intoxicated Ara merely laughed, “Sure, exactly that.”

Roland continued to glance at her curiously until the door swung open.

Toji stood in the doorway, “Hey, kids. Sorry to keep you waitin’ “

Toji was older than them by a few years–only because he refused to graduate for some reason. Either he was too dumb or just didn’t care. If there was one thing everyone knew he was good at-it was pulling women-it was football. He was captain of the football team for a reason.

He dapped Roland up as he let him and Nina enter. Roland was also on the football team.

“Who’re you?” he suddenly asked as Ara stepped forward.

His narrow green eyes looked her up and down–even if he was expressionless it felt as though he were eating her up with his eyes.

She knew she looked good–even if none of the clothes were hers. Millie had completely transformed her look with just a few simple pieces.

She wore a light blue, lace-y tube top that showcased quite a bit of her bare hips and navel. The fitted top also outlined the shape of her rather full breasts, which she’d typically kept hidden underneath the blazer of her uniform. She knew what attention they would draw on her smaller frame so she never wore her uniform without the blazer.

Then for bottoms she wore a simple tight black mini-skirt that revealed her smooth legs. Thank god Millie had extra razors so she’d shaved at her house. And for shoes, she wore her typical black Converses–unfortunately Millie and her weren’t the same shoe size. (a/n: i swear i didn't do this to make her basic. she ends up having to walk home so i jus didn't want my girl to suffer :,) & yES ik she's not real but idc idc)

Millie took her hand, “It’s Ara Natsuna, dumbass.”

She saw Toji’s brows draw together in confusion before his eyes widened, “You’re shitting me. Quiet girl?”

Before she had the chance to respond, Millie was suddenly pulling her inside.

Millie spoke as she dragged her through the mass of people, “He was totally gonna try chat you up–”

Millie suddenly stopped, “Wait, did you want him to?”

Ara shook her head. Don’t get her wrong, Toji was attractive as hell, but she’d rather not start her party debut with someone that passed around.

Though, that might just be how she felt right now. Who knows where the night will take her?

Suddenly a few of Millie’s friends called out her name and they both were thrown into a mass of greeting people. People were incredibly astonished to see her–continuously making stupid comments asking if she’d decided to leave the books behind. Joke or not, it was incredibly shallow.

They acted like being hot and smart wasn’t possible at the same time. It was annoying–but she was too drunk to care.

Millie suddenly ran off and Ara stumbled slightly as she went after her–but then froze in her steps.

Millie had run to Gojo, who was sitting on a couch's armrest. His long limbs easily held him up as he reached over to return Millie’s side hug.

“Millie Mills.” he greeted in a light, singsong tone.

He wore a simple black tee shirt with matching pants. Despite the simpleness of the outfit, his shirt fit just right on his lean frame–tightening around his muscular waist and shoulders when he raised his hand to pat Mille’s head.

Her throat went dry.

Millie and her had already talked about Gojo. She tried to tell her to not talk to him and Millie seemed to half heartedly agree–using lame excuses like he’s fun to talk to or that he’s hot. She didn’t know how to tell her that Gojo talking to her out of the blue wasn’t a coincidence–even if he possibly did like her as a friend or whatnot now, he was not to be trusted.

Millie said she didn't like like him but the way she was pressing her chest against him displayed otherwise.

Millie had tried to tell her to give him a chance–eagerly telling her on their bus rides that Gojo kept asking about her but Ara refused. She didn’t want to hear one-fucking-second of it. She didn’t care if Gojo never asked about a girl before. She didn’t care if Gojo mostly fucked cheerleaders. She didn’t care if he hadn’t been in a relationship in the past four years since he moved here.

He was weird, annoying and obnoxious—and that was that.

The vibe she got off of him was nowhere near safe either. She honestly didn’t even know how Millie felt comfortable hugging him.

Millie went on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear and he bent his head lower to make it easier for her.

I found out what she whispered in his ear later...

Suddenly his head snapped up and their eyes locked.

Despite being a distance away, the ominous feeling within her gut still arose the moment his intricate crystal-like eyes met hers. She had no choice but to freeze under his gaze when he gave her body a slow perusal.

If Toji had been eating her up with his eyes before, Gojo’s eyes were devouring her–his attentive gaze ravaging each piece of her unveiled body with such greed, she couldn’t take it. She felt like she was standing naked under his gaze. There was something so vile and unhinged about the dark look that had slipped across his face; she suddenly felt like she shouldn’t have come here.

His expression hadn’t even changed much, his jaw simply clenching and his hand on Millie’s head suddenly slid down to the back of her neck.

Millie jumped slightly when Gojo’s hand tightened around her nape.

His eyes never left Ara’s as he spoke, “I thought you were lying–tellin’ me what I wanted to hear.”

Millie glanced at him, a bit nervous at the new terseness of his tone, “W-why would I do that?” she said, with a slightly timid, childish laugh.

“I’m not a liar.” Millie added, playfully, before placing a hand on Gojo’s thigh to steady herself.

That was all Ara needed to see to know that Millie still hadn’t cut off contact with him. Her insides twisted with disgust. She’d known that the other girl hadn’t fully agreed to stop talking to him but–Christ, it just looked so low.

Knowing that he was interested in her ‘friend’ and that her ‘friend’ found him creepy and still getting all close to him? What was even the point?

Ara stepped back-keeping the emotions hidden from her face as she subtly waved at Millie–signaling that she was gonna go elsewhere. She hadn’t talked to Gojo in a week and she didn’t plan on changing that now. Millie gave her a thumbs up.

Gojo’s eyes followed her before she disappeared somewhere into the kitchen.

Suddenly, someone nudged his knee.

Gojo turned his head to see Geto looking at him curiously. Geto sat, fully relaxed, in the exorbitant couch that he was sitting on the armrest of.

“What is it?” Geto asked while withdrawing the joint from his mouth.

“She’s here.” Millie responded, her attempt at including herself in the group of lethally attractive men before her.

“Who’s she?” Nanami asked-dryly-from the loveseat beside the couch that Geto and Gojo occupied. He didn’t look up from his phone.

Before Geto could respond, Gojo was suddenly questioning Millie, “You convinced her to come here?” The seriousness in his tone made the other boys go quiet.

Nanami glanced up from his phone.

Millie shook her head, “No, she wanted to come herself.”

“Thought you said her parents were strict.”

She shrugged, “Dunno. She snuck out.”

Gojo released her neck, a look of contemplation passing over his features as he rubbed his chin, “Somethings up.”

“Isn’t there always.” Millie mused, while playing with his fingers.

He raised the hand Millie was fiddling with to her face, his long fingers easily covering its entirety as he pushed her face back.

“Satoru! My lip gloss.” she exclaimed as he stood up. He gave her a wink before disappearing off into the throng of people.

She sat down on the armrest Gojo had just left from with a huff.

Geto didn’t spare her a glance. Instead, he indirectly addressed Nanami by saying, “He’s mad.”

“Satoru?” Nanami questioned, glancing up from his phone again.

Geto nodded.

“How do you know?” Nanami asked, “He looked normal to me.”’

Geto shrugged–not knowing how to expand on it because he wasn’t sure how he himself knew, but he was more than sure of it.

Toji arrived with three beers in his hands. He popped a cap open with his teeth before throwing himself back on the loveseat beside Nanami.

“Jus saw the sexiest chick I’ve seen in a while.. Her tits were-phew.” Toji shook his head before taking a swig.

“If you're talking about Ara, leave her alone.” Millie bit back.

“Oh? That a challenge?” He smirked at Millie. They’d fucked once–okay, maybe more than once—but, like every girl who tried, she couldn’t tie him down.

“Don’t even try it.” Geto warned.

If this was how parties were like, she never wanted it to end.

Loud music pounded through the pristine, wide-ceiling walls of Nanami’s house. The strong scent of weed, alcohol and a plethora of expensive colognes and perfume in the air. Voices—so much chatter, laughter and familiar faces. Everyone seemed so chill and.. happy.

She handed the joint back to the guy beside her with a loud cough—more coughing followed as she continued to breathe.

“Shit, is this your first time?” he asked, a hint of a smile on his lips.

She turned her head back to see Noel. She’d always seen him around school but they barely interacted—he wasn’t in the same classes as her. Besides, he hung with a completely different crowd. He was on the swim team. And, gosh, he was hot.

She didn’t know how she managed to grab his attention when she’d merely been walking around the outdoor pool. He was sitting in one of the surrounding lounge chairs and asked if she wanted to ‘cyph’.

She’d agreed—despite having no clue what that meant. It didn’t take her long to realize that it was just another term for smoking w33d. (a/n: idk if tumblr censors words or not so imma jus keep spelling it like that. y'all know what i mean anyway~)

They now sat shoulder to shoulder on the lounge chair. He was laughing beside her.

She frowned once her coughing subsided, “Are you laughing at me?”

He shook his head, pieces of his dark brown hair falling over his forehead in the process.

“Nah, I should’ve figured. I never seen you at one of these parties before.”

She wasn’t sure if it was drugs or alcohol in her system but god, the subtle grin on his lips was so hot. He had one of those smiles that made it hard to look away from his lips.

No wonder Millie hooked up with him sophomore year.

Something about that thought made her pry her eyes away.

His hand came up to her back, “You want another hit?”

She glanced back at him, shaking her head, “I need a minute. My throat feels so..” she didn’t know how to describe it.

He laughed once more, running his hand down her back reassuringly.

“I know. My first time smoking was like that too. I was coughing like a bitch.”

He then asked her, “Do you want a drink?”

“Millie said not to drink the stuff here.”

His subtle grin returned, “She’s probably right… is that who you came with? Millie?”

She nodded.

“How do you know her?”

“I met her on the bus.” They’d always sat next to each other since kindergarten.

“That’s cool.” he dropped his hand from her back, and offered her his joint, “You wanna hold onto this for me while I go get us some drinks?”

She took it from his hand with a nod.

As he stood up he noticed the look of disappointment on her face. Though, he didn’t know the reasoning behind it. She was still thinking about Millie—her one and only friend, who never took her word seriously.

“Aw, don’t look like that,” he bent down to give her a light kiss on the cheek.

He ruffled the top of her hair, “I’ll be right back.”

She offered him a small smile before watching him walk off.

The front door slammed shut—loud enough to be heard over the music. Everyone in the mansion paused for a second as people began to glance around and murmur.

Nanami jumped up from the loveseat, “The hell was that?”

Geto and Toji stood up as well.

Gojo suddenly appeared before them. His white hair more disheveled than usual as he smoothed down his black shirt. There was a hint of a bruise forming on his cheekbone.

Geto stepped towards him, “What happened?” he demanded.

“Oh, I just kicked Noel out.” his tone oddly light.

He shrugged before looking at Nanami, “I caught him tryna steal somethin’ in your Mommy’s room.”

“Noel?” Nanami questioned. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Nanami was captain of the swim team. He’d spent a considerable amount of time with Noel, who was on his team.

Something in Gojo’s eyes shifted as he stared at Nanami—the lightheartedness in his tone moments prior gone, “Are you doubting me?”

Toji’s eyes widened before he took another swig of beer.

Nanami’s brows furrowed until Gojo suddenly threw his head back in laughter.

He placed a hand on Nanami’s shoulder, giving it a good squeeze before leaning close. Geto’s eyes lingered on the red marks along Gojo’s knuckles.

“Don’t worry, Nanamiiin, I took care of it,” he tilted his head, “You can scold him all you want whenever you see him at practice.”

He released Nanami’s shoulder with a bright smirk on his lips.

Nanami eyed him, “Just don’t slam my door.”

Gojo held his hands up-as if he were instructed to do so by the police-before walking backwards haphazardly.

He wriggled his fingers playfully, “No promises.”

Ara watched the girls play in the pool with a bored expression. They looked like they were having so much fun.

What’s taking him so long?

She looked down at the joint in her hand. She’d taken a couple hits–even if it made her cough quite a bit, but she couldn’t help but wonder where Noel had gone. He should’ve been here by now.

She picked up his joint and lighter with a frown before walking around the pool to head back inside the house. Her drunk self too unaware of her surroundings to notice the many lingering eyes on her as she passed.

She entered the mansion, heading to the kitchen to see if Noel was there.

Her eyes scanned the spacious kitchen in awe. It had to be the biggest kitchen she’d ever seen. Whoever designed it’s interior managed to merge a modern yet home-y feel perfectly. Its red, cream and dark brown color scheme also gave a sort of regal appeal.

She stumbled over to the nearest canvas hung on the wall. It was huge. It showcased a beautiful view of vast hills and a sunset colored sky. Her fingers gently ran over the painting, only for her eyes to widen when she realized it was actually hand-painted, not printed. Her eyes widening further when she saw an elegant black signature at the painting's bottom right corner.

Who knows how much this thing costs.

“Natsuna? No way.”

She turned her head to see Jaemin. He wore a black wife beater, showing off the small tattoos that marked his tan collarbones and toned arms. They never spoke before but she’d be lying if she said his wolf-cut didn’t suit him.

She raised a brow, “You know my name?”

He laughed, “Of course. We’ve been going to the same school since forever.”

She turned around fully, letting her back lean against the wall as she absentmindedly played with a strand of her hair.

“I guess.. I look hot enough for you to speak to me now.” she stated, dryly-the words slipping off her tongue without a second thought. Alcohol was truly something else.

He chuckled as he drew closer, “Pft, you were always hot. I liked your little quiet, mysterious girl look.”

A laugh escaped her lips as she repeated, “Quiet, mysterious girl look?”

She placed her hand on his chest when he stood directly in front of her. He bent his head low to touch her forehead with his. Whatever his cologne was-it was entirely too addicting.

He raised his hand with a red solo cup to her cheek. His knuckles skimming the side of her face as he spoke, “You always look like you wanna be left alone or else I woulda bothered you a long time ago.”

She smirked wryly. “Sure.”

He returned her smirk with one of his own, “Let me prove it–”

Suddenly his phone buzzed, and he froze. He held her gaze a second longer before glancing down between them, at the phone in his hand.

He shook his head subtly, “Gotta get more drinks.”

He patted her hip, “Stay right here.”

She nodded.

He gave her a little smirk before walking off.

“Damn Gojo, don’t you got your lil lackeys around for this?” Jaemin grumbled to himself.

He didn’t mind Gojo at all—in fact, he actually kinda liked the guy-but it wasn’t like they were tight or anything. The only reason why he decided to ‘listen’ was because Gojo never asked him for a favor before. He figured it was a once in a blue moon typa thing. Hell, could’ve even been a drunk text. He didn’t care, he just wanted to see Nanami’s family’s wine cellar.

He walked downstairs, glancing around at the movie theater room before him.

“Fuck, what damn part of the basement am I at now.”

He walked further into the room, past the large screen, towards the drinks bar. He leaned on the counter to glance around, only to spot empty champagne flutes instead of bottles.

He frowned before spotting the open double door beside the mini bar.

He pushed himself off the counter and walked into the wide wine cellar. He whistled.

He walked up to one of the bottles and easily plucked one out.

“Holy shit, 18 year old Scotch?” he gaped, “Shit probably tastes like ass.”

He carefully placed it back.

“Too bad Gojo wants beer.” he muttered, though he wasn’t really complaining.

But where the hell is the be—Oh.

He spotted the mini circular, blue, window that was stuck into a door in the wall. How could he forget? Nanami’s infamous walk-in freezer.

He pulled open the door and walked inside.

Goosebumps immediately rose on his skin the second he stepped within. It was neatly arranged and brightly lit. He walked further inside and spotted the untouched stack of canned beer on the shelf.

“Bless.” he muttered before reaching out to grab a couple.

Just as he juggled a few cans in his hands, the freezer door slammed shut.

His head snapped around, eyes widening before he dropped all the cans in his hands and ran to the door. He tried the handle before slamming his hands onto the door.

“YO! Hello?! Open this shit up!” he hollered, while glancing through the mini window. He saw no one.

At first he’d thought it was a stupid prank from one of his boys who might’ve followed him into the basement but… there was no one.

“HELLO?!!” he yelled once more, looking through the window with more intensity.

He didn’t understand how the door could’ve closed if someone didn’t pull it shut—he assumed it may have been an auto-lock timer on the door or something.

He broke out in a cold sweat when he realized no one could hear him. Not over the loud ass music.

His hand went to pocket to check for his phone. Maybe he could call—

“Fuck!” he hollered as he harshly patted his empty pockets.

He’d set his phone down on one of the shelves in the wine cellar when he’d grabbed that aged Scotch.

His breathing slowed when realization hit him like a truck. No phone. No one to hear him. No one in the basement.

If he didn’t get help soon, he was gonna freeze.

And it didn’t help that he was wearing a wife beater.

Of course I had to wear a fucking wife beater to-fucking-day.

He clenched his teeth, running his hands quickly over his arms. The cold was starting to settle in, alongside a large dose of panic.

His eyes dilated in fear before he slammed his hands against the freezer doors once more.

“SOMEONE!!! HELP!! GET ME OUT— HELP!!”

In the midst of his panic, a shot of hope suddenly zipped up his spine.

Gojo. That’s right—Gojo!

Gojo had been the one to text him ‘Yo yo, get more beer from the basement will ya¿ tyyy ;)’ so there was a chance Gojo would notice that he was gone. That he didn’t come back with drinks.

Gojo would help him—Gojo would remember him.. right?

Jaemin’s teeth began to chatter.

“Fuck!” he hugged himself once more before throwing his whole body against the freezer door. It didn’t budge.

“HELP!! SOMEONE HELP ME OUTTA HERE!!!”

He grabbed the phone from the shelf.

A smirk graced his lips, “Too easy.”

He was counting on the weak internet connection in Nanami’s wine cellar to-at least-delay Jaemin from contacting others. Or his phone to shut down from the freezer’s low temperature by the time he realized he could call someone. Jaemin wasn’t exactly the brightest guy.

But this. This was so much better.

He chuckled to himself as he walked through the dimly lit theater. Tossing the phone back and forth within his hands as he easily made his way back to the main floor from Nanami’s multi-level basement.

Just as he rejoined the boisterous party, he spotted a large fish tank installed within the wall.

He wandered over, bending over to peer at the various koi fish inside. Several of the multi-colored fish bounded over–their eager mouths opening and closing as they bumped into the glass, expecting food.

“Hey guys, miss me?” he mused.

He tapped the corner of the fish tank with his knuckle three times.

The fish tank slowly retracted from the wall. The fish all swam to the top. Their eager mouths bobbing through the water.

He smirked as he dropped the phone within the fish tank’s clear blue waters.

“Keep this safe for me, will ya?”

Ara stood in the kitchen, growing more irritated by the second.

Where is Jaemin? Or Noel?

She crossed her arms. Did I really get ditched by two guys in the same night?

Despite that possibility, for some reason her gut feeling told her that that wasn’t it.

She sighed, glancing down at her hand. She still had Noel’s joint and lighter. She decided to take another hit.

She coughed—having inhaled a little too fast. The woozy feeling that followed made her obnoxious coughing worth it.

She’d never felt so relaxed before. It was almost too relaxed. Relaxed enough that it almost felt wrong.

Everything was so enhanced it was absolutely riveting. The music. The colors. The voices. Maybe it was a good thing she’d never tried w33d until now—she saw exactly why people could get addicted. Even if the smell wasn’t exactly pleasant.

Just as she raised the joint to her lips again, a new crowd of people entered the kitchen. Rambunctious as ever.

She spotted Arman. She knew he was a close friend of Noel’s. They both were on the swim team.

She impulsively stepped up to him, “Hey-“

Before she could get another word in she was interrupted.

Arman’s eyes widened, “Holy shit—Natsuna?”

She immediately reddened. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead she smiled slightly.

“That’s me.”

He glanced at the joint in her hand, “Wait, you smoke too? Damn, girl. Double agent, for real.”

She was too high to care about his little comments. Quite frankly she’d been hearing it so much tonight it was getting boring.

“I don’t smoke. Today was my first time.”

He raised a brow, “Really?”

He eyed her joint, “Then where’d you get that from?”

“Noel. Do you know where he is?”

Arman’s brows furrowed. He seemed completely lost in thought, as if it was taking him a lot of brain cells to think.

“I don’t know, I think he left.” he finally slurred out.

“He left?” she questioned, surprised.

“Yeah, some dude told me he got kicked out but I don’t know. He didn’t respond to my texts.”

“Kicked out? What did he do?”

He didn’t answer, instead he reached into his cargo pants and shuffled out his phone from his pocket.

He handed her his phone—showing her the screen of the several, horribly misspelled texts that he’d sent Noel. It seemed Noel had left him on delivered.

She sighed, handing the phone back to him.

“Thanks.”

Suddenly a moment of clarity seemed to pass over Arman’s eyes.

He clasped her arm, “Wait, was Noel your ride here?”

She blinked, too drunk to recall, “I.. I don’t know.”

“Shit,” he let go of her arm, “Let me know if you need a ride home.”

She laughed, her unfiltered thoughts slipping off her tongue, “There’s no way I’m sitting in the same car as you.”

“What?” a hint of a dashing smile revealed itself, “Why not?”

“Because do you see yourself? You're drunk as shit.”

He threw his head back, laughing a little too loosely. She couldn’t help but laugh while watching him.

He set his eyes back on her, “And you think you’re not?”

Her brows furrowed, “I think.. I’m sober enough.”

“If you’re sober then we’re all sober.”

She rolled her eyes, “Ha ha.”

Arman threw his arm around her shoulder, “You’re staying with me.”

Arman had introduced her to a few of his friends. It took her a millisecond to forget their names and faces.

His hand was in hers as they walked through the swarm of people. Her legs hurt from how much they’d walked around.

It’d been fun though, exploring the mansion with him and his friends. She almost hoped that she would remember it.

The next thing she knew she was being tugged and suddenly she was on someone’s lap.

She glanced over to see Arman sitting on a loveseat. His deeper, tan skin glowed handsomely underneath the colorful lights. It only emphasized his dashing, perfect-toothed smile. She couldn’t help but compare his smile to a Disney Prince.

She’d rarely seen him around at school. He was a junior but he was undoubtedly attractive. His jet black hair was slightly outgrown in that rugged way, with a few strands hovering over his forehead.

She attempted to move his hair off of his forehead only for it to fall right back in place.

She let out a laugh.

“You’re really pretty.” he blurted.

She glanced at him. Into his dark eyes, that were surrounded by-jealousy inducing-lengthy lashes.

She placed her hands on his shoulders.

Her voice wavered, suddenly feeling shy, “Yeah?”

He nodded, his hands sliding around her waist—drawing her closer. Their faces millimeters apart.

“You.. don’t like Noel right?” he asked, sounding almost nervous.

She laughed a bit, “I just met him today.”

Their noses nudged into each other and he smirked, “Then.. he shouldn’t mind, right?”

She smiled a bit, “I don’t think he’ll mind..”

His smirk widened as their lips barely brushed against each others, “He won’t.”

She bit her lower lip, her tone playful, “He won’t?”

“He won’t.” he responded, gruffly before crashing his lips into hers.

Her first kiss.

She was too drunk-high-crossed to know what she was doing. She pressed her lips into his—merely trying to mimic his movements. His lips tasted of alcohol.

His hands were touching her all over. Sliding up the curve of her waist, grabbing her hips and even fondling one of her boobs. His thumb rubbing against one of her nipples through her top.

She moaned against his lips.

His hand slid to her thigh, moving her leg over his hard-on through his jeans. A jolt of nerves suddenly shot up her spine.

She broke the kiss. She was out of breath and her face felt hot.

Suddenly, an ice-cold voice sounded from somewhere near them, “You guys should get a room.”

They both glanced over to see Gojo standing in front of them, drink in hand.

His expression was stone-cold. His bright blue eyes latching onto hers and for some reason, she knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

Suddenly a wildly handsome, playful smile spread across his lips. To others the sight must’ve been nothing short of appealing but it felt nothing but menacing to her.

She swallowed, her throat dry.

“Gojo!” Arman greeted, friendly.

They fist bumped.

“You jealous?” Arman teased.

His blazing blue eyes slid over to Arman, his smile widening. She didn’t miss the way his fingers tightened around his glass.

“More than you know.” he mused, airily. “As much as I’d love to watch you two go at it out here, Nanami would freak. Better take it to his Mom’s room. Maybe you’ll get lucky and find some toys in there.”

Arman snorted humorously, “You’re fucked.”

Suddenly Gojo grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“Not as fucked as she is.”

That amused smile still pasted on his lips. But his eyes—she could feel the darkness swimming within them despite how blazingly blue they were. They were frigid with something so prominent she wondered how no one else saw it.

She immediately felt her body tense under his touch. She shoved his hand off of her.

His smile twisted into a wicked grin. She didn’t miss the hard edge to his curled lips.

She tugged at Arman’s hand, “Lets go.”

She wanted to get away from him. Far, far away from him.

Arman stood up, patting Gojo’s shoulder as he chuckled. Everything seemed to be funny to Arman. She couldn’t help but notice that the boys were also close in height.

“Shhh, bro.” he joked along with him. Not realizing that they were talking about completely different things.

Gojo merely winked before pressing his drink into Arman’s chest.

“One for the road?” he offered.

“Hell yeah.” Arman took the drink out of his hand and tilted his head back—downing it all in one go.

Gojo whistled as Arman handed the empty glass back to him.

Gojo lightly punched his arm, “I knew I liked you. Go have fun.”

Arman grinned, “You know I will.”

They both shared a chuckle before Arman faced her. His arms slipped around her waist.

He placed a couple light kisses on her neck, but she was stiller than stone. Her eyes were latched onto Gojo’s face—whose smile was slowly slipping away by the second.

She quickly turned away from him and faced Arman. A soft, hesitant smile on her lips.

He returned her smile with one of his own, “You wanna go upstairs?”

“S-sure.”

He pecked her cheek once more before slipping his hand through hers. He led them through the swarm of people once more.

She hated that she felt Gojo’s eyes on her back. The feeling made her shiver.

She refused to glance back.

They got lost trying to find the upstairs like twice. Only to realize they’d walked past it multiple times because the stairs were not well lit.

A few people stood at the bottom of the stairwell. Talking and chatting while her and Arman laughed quietly as they walked past them up the steps.

The group eyed them as they walked past.

Her and Arman had passed that group multiple times when they’d gotten lost so she could only imagine how odd they looked to them. Watching them go in circles around the house again and again.

She was a complete ball of giggles as they climbed up the spiral glass staircase.

He flashed her a subtle smile, before poking her.

“Shhh, keep it down, missy.” he teased her.

She almost broke out in another fit of giggles until he suddenly stopped.

He released her hand to hold onto the railing. His eyes were wide.

Her brows furrowed as she peeked up at him. She stood on the same step as him.

“Are you okay?” she asked once she noticed him look somewhat off.

He was sweating bullets.

The next thing she knew he turned his face aside and he was retching all over the steps, liquid pouring out.

Her hands went to her mouth as he stumbled down a couple steps, flimsily holding onto the railing for some balance.

He looked up at her, she stood a few steps atop him.

His eyes were bloodshot, face blotchy, his hair slick with sweat. His shirt was stained with the dark liquid of his vomit. All he’d vomited out was liquor.

He raised his foot, as if attempting to climb up one more step only to release the railing and go staggering backwards. The people at the end of steps yelled and moved out of the way as he crash landed into the floor.

A few people hadn’t moved out in time and managed to get hit by his rather tall frame, but now he lay sprawled on the floor. His red eyes wide open, arms splayed out, completely still.

His head moved slightly, as if trying to turn his face aside—only for white foam to start pouring out from his lips. His body began to convulse.

“Arman!” she screamed, running down the steps.

She dropped to her knees, by his side. She stared at him, worry consuming her as she held her hands out—unsure what to do.

She needed to find Millie. Millie might be sober enough to help her figure out this situation.

She stood up shakily. Her knees wobbly with terror as she looked down at Arman’s convulsing body. People’s shouts and murmurs all white noise to her.

More and more people seemed to gather around him.

She swiftly pushed her way through the crowd only to bump into an incredibly hard chest.

Her body went cold.

She looked up to see Gojo’s eyes already on her. She swore something in his eyes crackled, like blue flames.

His fingers grazed her forearm before grasping her. His large hand easily encapsulated the entirety of her elbow, “Go on. Find another plaything. I can do worse.”

The underlying threat veiled by his darkly charming smirk made goosebumps break across her skin. Her throat went dry in terror.

Her eyes widened as it clicked, “You… it was you..”

Noel. Jaemin. Arman. He’d done something to them.

He tilted his head, strands of his white hair becoming more disheveled in the process.

He raised a white brow as he waited for her to complete her response. His dangerous smile only widening.

The confidence sweeping off of him unsettled her to bone—enough to make her choke on her words.

“What did you do?” she whispered in shock.

“Nothing I regret.”

She stepped back, shoving his hand off of her.

She cupped her elbow-where his hand had been moments ago. Her skin still buzzed from the aftermath of their contact.

“What did you do to them?” she asked, her voice shaky.

His eyes bounced with amusement as she stared at him in absolute horror. The feeling of fear coursing within her only amplified by the drugs and alcohol in her body.

“What did you do to Arman?” she demanded.

His hand slipped out of his pocket, revealing a little zip lock baggie of pills. Some of the pills were crushed, leaving a powdery residue on the sides of the bag.

She eyed the bag. He caught the unsureness in her eyes.

“You know what this is?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Molly.”

Her eyes widened—especially when she remembered Arman had downed the drink Gojo gave him without a second's hesitance.

Who knows how much he put in there.

“Y-you’re sick.”

He chuckled—chuckled.

The faint sound of sirens pierced through the music. It seemed someone had called the ambulance.

“This is nothing.”

I wish he was lying.

“He’s seizing on the floor.” she sputtered.

“And?”

Her heartbeat stopped—her eyes instinctively meeting his once more. The smirk on his lips had dulled some, but his eyes. There was almost an ethereal glow to them—but instead of finding it beautiful, she found it deeply disturbing.

“You aren’t his to touch.”

She was speechless. The uneasy feeling in her gut pulsed through her—urging her-screaming at her to get away from him. As far away as she could.

She staggered backwards, his sharp eyes and fading smile never leaving her as she disappeared into the crowd.

I should’ve never gone to that party.

Ara walked with her phone in her hand. The sky was dark, but the brightly lit mansions along the street kept the streets rather well lit.

Each mansion was more spacious and grandly landscaped than the next—almost as if in competition. Some had fountains and others had marble driveways. It was mind-boggling.

She glanced over her shoulder, looking back at Nanami’s house. The ambulance was parked outside, alongside several police cars.

She’d gone searching for Millie first, the second she’d gotten away from Gojo. But she couldn’t find the other girl anywhere.

She stopped her search the second she heard cops pounding on the mansion doors. She’d escaped through the back door.

She watched the house observantly from over her shoulder. The music and voices could still be heard from down the street.

She saw a paramedic and a few cops dragging a stretcher out to the ambulance.

Her heart lurched as she remembered just the look of distraught that had passed along Arman’s face a second before he stumbled down the stairs.

An image of his helpless body, lying on the ground at an awkward angle, with foam bubbling out of his mouth.

She flinched. She hadn’t felt that scared in a long time.

And Gojo.

She was still too drunk to fully process what he’d done. Too inebriated to fully acknowledge it.

She shook her head, raking a hand through her hair as she glanced down at her phone.

An unfamiliar number had texted and called—multiple times.

163-7263-1555: ara its me

163-7263-1555 (2) missed calls

163-7263-1555: pick up

163-7263-1555: silent treatment againnn :///

163-7263-1555: shouldn’t i be the one mad right now

She was more than sure it was Gojo. She wasn’t sure how he’d gotten her number, maybe Millie had given it to him.

She’d rather die before texting him.

She switched from the messenger app to Google maps. She was following the walking directions to her home address. Even if it was 39 minutes away, she didn’t care. She wanted to go home.

She didn’t want to ever party again.

I should’ve never gone home that night.

She stood in the middle of her room. It was still just as messy as her father had left it.

It was like walking back from one nightmare to another.

She sighed, walking over to make sure her bedroom door was still locked. She knew if her dad had wanted to come check on her could’ve, he had a key.

He preferred to kick it down sometimes despite that.

She raked a hand through her hair before deciding to clean one section of the mess. Maybe it would ease her nerves—she was almost sure sleep wasn’t going to come easy to her tonight.

She bent down, picking up the fallen papers beside her desk. Her legs ached from her long walk. Luckily it hadn’t been too cold outside.

Suddenly a slight sound came from her window.

Her head spun and she eyed it warily.

What was that?

Nothing was different—at first glance anyway. She swallowed, unsure what to make of it.

She glanced over when she spotted her phone on the bed light up. It casted an ominous white glow to a corner of her dim room, along the ceiling and wall.

She hadn’t kept any lights on. Using the moonlight pouring from the window as her only source of light.

Her stomach swam with uneasiness. She was too uncertain to move.

Her whole body tensed when she heard faint shuffling noises by her window. Her eyes widened when she saw a hand grasp her window ledge then, before she knew it, a figure appeared.

He was squatting, his legs wide open over the narrow window ledge. The same ledge she used moments ago, to climb back into her room.(a/n: y’all kno that one official art pic of gojo squatting, legs wide & his thumb under his blindfold, yeA that one ;)

A smirk lit the edge of his lip when he spotted her.

He raised his hand and knocked on the window, as if prompting her.

She didn’t move—merely rooted in spot-in shock.

No fucking way.

When he realized she wasn’t going to open the window his shoulders sagged. His expression darkened as she heard him mutter through the glass-

“Do I have to do everything myself?”

He used the hand that wasn’t pressed flat against the window to grab onto the slim rail. After a bit of shuffling he pushed the window up.

Her heartbeat skyrocketed and she immediately stood up.

He’s going to come inside.

She glanced towards her bedroom door but then stopped. She glanced down at herself.

She hadn’t changed out of her outfit from the party. Her dad was surely going to kill her if he saw her in this outfit. Her dad was sure to kill her for even being up at this hour.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Araa.” his voice was light, almost teasing.

She spun around, eyes wide with panic when she saw Gojo standing within her room. He looked so tall, his head too close to the ceiling.

Her room wasn’t exactly small but the mess made it look so. And his tall, slender frame made it look even smaller.

He stood right underneath the moonlight emitting from the window, it gave the ends of his frosty white hair a glossy hue.

He looked radiant.

Every detail of his pretty blue eyes defined in the dark.

Maybe I should scream..

A croak left her lips.

Her drunk mind raged with indecision. She knew she should scream, wake her father… but she was terrified. Terrified of picking the wrong demon to deal with.

Her father was predictable. He’d hit Gojo then hurt her twice as bad once he kicked Gojo out. She winced at the thought–but Gojo-Gojo was unpredictable. There was no guarantee what he would do…

Maybe I can get him to leave.. She was terrified of rousing her dad. He’d already beat her once today–if he beat her again she wasn’t sure she could handle it. And if she had to explain where she’d been… he’d kill her. She was sure of it.

Gojo tilted his head, “Aren’t you goin’ to talk to me?”

Her body shook slightly, “What-are you doing here.” She meant to sound firm but her voice came out raspy instead.

He took a step towards her while teasingly mocking her tone, “Why-the hell don’t you answer your phone.”

She took several steps back, fighting to keep her voice calm, “Y-you need to leave–”

He continued to slowly walk towards her, his eyes skimming over the mess in her room curiously, “If you picked up my call I could’ve taken you home, y’know. You didn’t have to walk.”

She held out her hand, “Stop.”

She stopped him a second before he could stand directly in front of her. Despite him being a few feet away from her, his tall frame easily blocked her sight from most of the room. His head was bent as he looked down at her.

She scrambled backwards a few steps, nearly tripping over the mess in her room multiple times just to regain more distance between them.

“Don’t come close to me,” she warned, her voice shaky, “Get out, Gojo. I’m serious. Get. Out.”

His eyes twinkled, “But I just got here.” he whined.

Her hand shook as she kept it held up in the air. “Just go.” she whispered, her tone harsh.

The glint of amusement within his eyes was all too demeaning. He tilted his head.

“What’re you gonna do, princess.”

Her mouth went dry, she struggled to find her words. Her heart pounded in her ears.

“I’ll scream.”

A dangerously handsome smile split across his lips. He shook his head.

“My dads home.” she warned.

His eyes latched onto hers, “Then why didn’t you scream when I came in.”

She felt something constrict in her throat.

She didn’t know how to tell him that despite him entering her house against her will-her Dad was guaranteed to twist the story and blame her. He might beat Gojo but he’d beat her worse. Because it would be her fault that Gojo got into the house. It would be her fault for not locking her window. It would be her fault for even knowing who Gojo was–

Because everything was always. her. fault.

She swallowed–feeling absolutely sick.

“You want me here.”

Her eyes immediately flitted up to his, “No.”

“Admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit,” she spat.

His eyes blazed as he taunted, “Then scream.”

Her body tensed with indecision–panic. Her throat constricted once more as she tried to think through the fear. She had to pick the lesser of two evils.

Her mind instantly became plagued with terror at the thought of waking her Dad. Just imagining his potential anger made her want to sob. But Gojo–he wasn’t listening.

“Please-” her voice cracked before she clenched her jaw, “Just get out.”

Suddenly he was crossing the distance between them, easily stepping over the mess.

Her eyes widened, instinctively backing up until her back hit her bedroom door.

The second he stood directly in front of her adrenaline took over and she slapped him. Her hand shook slightly from the aftereffects.

“I said. get. the fuck. out.” she bit out through rushed breaths.

She was absolutely terrified of looking up at Gojo–but she did it anyway. His head was still turned aside, facing the direction she’d slapped him. His smooth cheek blossomed with red from her slap.

His crystalline eyes were frozen at first-as if in shock-before something shifted. Her breath caught at the sight.

The next thing she knew she was being tossed onto the bed.

His hand was at her neck, holding her down in a chokehold as he stood between her spread legs. His other hand flat against the blanket beside her head.

“I’ve been good. so. fucking. good.” His lips brushed against her skin as he spoke roughly into her temple.

His fingers momentarily tightened around her throat.

“I left you alone,” He dug his nose into her cheekbone, pressing her face aside into the bed. “You think that was easy for me, hmm?”

His fingers loosened on her throat, his thumb gently rubbing over her racing pulsepoint.

“All I wanted was somethin’ in return, but you know what I got—” he hissed. “I got you showing up to a party, looking like the sluttiest bitch I’ve ever seen.”

His fingers tightened around her neck once more as he growled against her cheek, “I wanted to slut you out right then and there.”

She shivered, her hands went to his wrist at her throat—weakly pushing at him. Her nerves alight with terror.

“Get off–“ she whispered, shifting under him.

“You know what your ‘friend’ told me when she hugged me. She said ‘look what I brought you’.”

Her eyes widened. Millie? Millie said that?

His hand left her throat, suddenly cupping her face—forcing her to look directly at him.

He spoke raggedly, “She knows you’re mine—everyone knows you’re mine. Except you-you want to tease me—“

His lips crashed onto hers, enveloping her lips in a kiss so hard that her jaw ached. Her skin simmered wherever they touched.

The pressure of his lips dug her further into the bed. She gasped when he tugged at her lower lip with his teeth. He immediately took advantage of her open lips—shoving his tongue through the narrow expanse of her mouth.

He groaned.

She grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back.

He budged just enough for the kiss to break–his blue eyes illuminating in the dark. He slowly straightened, licking his lips.

She quickly propped herself up on her elbows. Her chest heaving in and out as she attempted to catch her breath. She placed a hand over her lips, her hand shook.

He stood in between her legs, which hung over the bed’s edge. His face was flushed, and not because of her slap.

“What the hell–” she rasped, before cutting herself off when he grabbed his shirt from the back and easily slipped it off.

Her throat went dry.

Well, him being the best basketball player definitely showed. It genuinely.. wasn’t fair.

His skin was incredibly smooth–nearly glowing in the darkness of her barely lit room. His shoulders bulged; his arms tautly corded with muscle. His already protruding abs tightened before her eyes. He was entirely too compact with muscle—it was clear he’d done some work in the gym.

He looked so strong-so lean-she was almost… terrified.

In fact, she was scared out of her mind.

He ran hand through his tousled white hair before bending over her once-again. He pressed his hands to the bed, around either side of her.

His jaw was locked as he looked down at her. His eyes slowly looking her up and down–his gaze absolutely predatory.

His forehead nearly touched hers as he lowered himself but she immediately fell back into the bed–avoiding his touch.

She scrambled under him–moving without any thought as she attempted to slip away only to yelp outloud when he grabbed her by the waist and shoved her back down against the bed.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear.

His countenance was unreadable–except for the dark look of heat that swam within the endless blue waters that were his eyes. The longer she looked at him she knew what was going to happen—she knew she was going to drown.

“You’re mine now.”

No. no. no.

Suddenly his hand was at her tube top, shoving it down. Her tits spilled over, revealing their luscious size. Her nipples were already hard from the slight breeze that escaped from her window.

His eyes reveled in the sight before he grabbed one and squeezed. She gasped at his grip.

“Mmm,” he palmed her hard nipple, “You been hiding these from me.”

She grabbed at his wrist, failing miserably to tear his firm hand off her chest.

She writhed under him, “Gojo, no—“

Suddenly he grabbed her wrists, easily pinning her hands above her head with one of his own. Her tits only seeming to protrude more at this angle.

His eyes widened, “Fuck.” he muttered, “You never took off our uniform’s jacket for a reason, huh?”

She didn’t get the chance to respond because he was touching her in an instant.

He took his time with each of her tits. He ran his palm against the smooth, untouched area of her underboob. He squeezed a handful, letting her tits fill the entirety of his large hand until it spilled through the gaps of his fingers.

He pinched her nipple and her body bucked.

“So fucking hot.” he gritted out.

“Gojo, please, stop, please—“ she whispered, begging.

She’d never felt this vulnerable in her life–she had to make him stop.

She twisted underneath him, purposely pushing her wrists against his hold only to gasp when his mouth latched onto her nipple. He lapped her perky nipple up, sucking diligently while roughly groping the other.

He broke away from her to look up at her through her tits, his lips glossy with saliva.

“How can I.” he answered, raggedly-before latching his mouth onto her unattended tit.

A choked moan left her lips-not from pleasure. Or so she thought-she couldn’t deny the feeling her nipples being attended to elicited. It was a feeling she’d never experienced before.

There was a heat she was starting to feel within her body—the kind of heat that was starting to burn within her, making her crave something she didn’t even know she wanted.

The feeling only added to her fear. The pulsing fear running underneath her skin threatened to overwhelm her.

“Please, please,” she whined, “My father is downstairs—please—“

His tongue swiped at her erect nipple once more. The tip of his tongue licking a tantalizing circle around her nipple before withdrawing his lips. A subtle smirk grew on his lips before he spit between the center of her tits. The feeling of the fluid against her skin making her squirm.

His fingers smeared his saliva along both of her tits. Her tits were soft and pillowy in his hands, using it as an excuse to squeeze them once more–he had to get them fully wet somehow, didn’t he?

He leaned back, standing upright between her legs. He didn’t let go of her wrists.

His blue eyes ran down her body. He wanted to groan. Her tits looked so good like that–glistening from his spit.

“Daddy’s downstairs, hm?” he mused. “Maybe he should know who his daughter belongs to now, hmm? He’s going to meet me one day anyway.”

“No..” she whispered.

He bent over her once-again, his teeth nipping at her lower lip. She sharply turned her head away–her body twisting underneath him.

“Get off—” she was cut-off when his hand suddenly pressed into her lower stomach, pushing her down further into bed. Her twisting and turning forced to an abrupt halt at the movement.

A low-cry left her lips.

“Why don’t you scream my name as loud as you can, yeah? I want you to.”

His hand was at her skirt, ripping it off with one swift yank of his arm.

He greedily drank in the sight of her in a baby pink lacey thong. Millie had given it to her tonight, as a ‘first night out’ gift.

If she’d known he would see it, she would’ve never worn it.

He slid his hand up her thigh, forcing her leg to spread before him. His teeth skimmed over his bottom lip at the sight. The entirety of her glistening cunt was visible to him since her thong had partly shifted aside.

He groaned through his teeth.

“Fuck, princess.”

He quickly released her wrists to hold up both of her legs, sliding his hands under her knees—spreading her completely wide open for him.

Before she could think of utilizing her free hands, she tensed. His pant covered groin was suddenly pressed against her warmth. His hard-on evident against her sensitive, untouched skin.

Her body buckled at the sensation.

A low chuckle left his lips before he began to grind his clothed cock against her wet cunt. She gasped, the feeling of something moving against her warmth foreign to her. But her body betrayed her mind—her juices spilled out her core, coating her thong and wetting his pants.

“Such a pretty pussy.” he rasped as he began to pick up speed, his hips jutting against her sensitive cunt. He was so hard.

She couldn’t move, her legs were spread wide. Held open by him against her will. Her knees were nearly at her shoulders as he grinded his cock against her. The bed squeaking noisily.

There was a feeling she couldn’t describe starting to brew within her. That heat–it spread along her skin and burned her insides. It seemed to originate from where he was rubbing against her. She couldn’t take it.

“Gojo-stop, Gojo-” she cried out, begging him to stop but he cut her off.

“Yes,” he growled out, “Just like that—want you to scream it next.”

His cock grinded harshly against her now, making her yelp out and her toes curl. Her thong was soaking, a wet spot had formed on his pants.

“So fucking wet,” he stared down at her cunt, continuing to roughly grind his cock against her. The friction felt so good against his cock.

“All mine.”

She writhed. A strangled cry leaving her lips as she attempted to separate her cunt from him by pressing her hips into the bed. The feeling was just too much–

He merely ground his cock further against her–pressing his hips against hers to further push her down into the bed. He used the added pressure to jut the length of his cock faster against her cunt.

She cried out, “P-Please—! Stop, Gojo—nnghh!”

He groaned–forcing himself to stop so he didn’t cum. He didn’t want to cum just yet.

She shivered, a subtle sigh of relief leaving her lips as she felt that hypocritical heat buzzing within her skin die down. She had no words for what that feeling was. A zip of fear coursed through her when she nervously glanced up at Gojo between her spread legs.

He was out of breath, his abs tightening with each inhale. Strands of his white hair curled over his forehead, slick with sweat. The slight mark of her earlier slap still on his cheek.

His gaze was possessive as he muttered, “m’gonna make you mine.”

He let go of one of her legs to unbuckle himself. He was too impatient to step out of his pants, merely unzipping himself and shoving his boxers down to let his thick, veiny cock jump out.

It was so long it made a slight sound when it hit his navel at first. His cock was big—big enough for her to be aware that it was big despite not having seen other cocks before. It was swollen at the tip, pink and leaking a liquid-y white substance.

The liquid leaked down his cock’s veiny sides. The veins protruding against his cock’s pale, pink skin. His cock was so erect, it was almost taunting her.

Her heart jumped to her throat–she was absolutely terrified.

She attempted to close her legs, drawing her knees together, “N-no…”

He easily drew the one leg he held apart and used his other hand to hook his index finger around her thong. He moved it further aside before placing his cockhead right at her entrance.

The tip of his cock pulsed as he felt her juices leak against him–despite not having entered her yet. His hissed–mind blanking with pleasure but before he could act on it, her legs flung out.

She turned to her side, moving to escape—until his hand found her throat, easily pinning her back down to the bed as he shoved his cock right into her core.

A pain-filled cry left her lips, her body buckling wildly underneath him. He’d only managed to seat his tip within her, but it hurt—it hurt so bad.

He bent over her and groaned.

A shiver raked her body at the sound. She went still, eyes squeezing shut, “No-no-nono-”

He peered down at her, his blue eyes dark with lust as he saw her strained expression. He slowly withdrew his cockhead and pushed it back in.

Her body jolted, eyes snapping open, “No—Gojo, stop-please, please—it hurts—“

She grabbed onto his hand at her throat. Her nails scratched at arm–trying-shoving-pushing at him, but they both knew it was futile. She sobbed.

Her cunt was incredibly wet, wet enough for her to feel aware of how warm the juices were making her insides. Despite all of this, she was still a virgin. She’d never had someone inside her before. Her cunt didn’t have any room for someone as big as him—or anyone ever.

He lowered himself over her, careful not to press his cock further into her as he swiped his tongue along her cheek, licking up her salty tear.

“You cryin’ princess?”

The tip of his cock pulsed inside of her.

His fingers around her neck tightened, “Do y’know how fuckin’ good you feel? How tight?”

He nipped at her jaw, before sucking at her neck—leaving dark dark hickeys behind. Darker than the marks he’d left on her tits.

“You think you deserve to run free after the way you were rubbin’ up on those random bitch boys, hm? You let them feel you up-let ‘em talk to you—”

His hips bucked into her, forcing another inch in. She nearly screamed.

“Only I get to do that.”

Her body was arched in pain, the skin above her tits felt warm and blotchy as she outstretched her neck. Her collarbones rising and falling against her skin as she breathed unevenly.

“No-no-no-“ she whimpered, her cunt hurt bad. Having more of him within her felt wrong—despite what the signals in her body were telling her.

Her cunt squeezed around him-heartily willing to accept him despite the pain. His girth was huge, taking up too much space. There was no way-this couldn’t be happening—

He groaned into her neck, his hand slipping down to play with her tits once more.

He squeezed her tit greedily before rubbing her areola till her nipple hardened against his palm.

“You were such a bad girl today-y’know-you should be grateful..”

He chuckled, huskily, against her skin, “Should be grateful I’m not tearing this pussy open right now.”

She made a low, weak moaning sound. She could only imagine the pain—there was no way. No way she could take all of him. She would break.

Her cunt squeezed around him, hard—the complete opposite of her mind’s reaction.

“Hah,” he breathed out, against her neck.

His hands beside her head fisted the sheets, gripping it hard as his thighs flexed. He fought the animalistic urge to pound his hips into her at the godless pace he wanted to fuck her at.

He had to resist–her pussy was so tight that his cock nearly felt wedged in place, despite the slick of her wetness coating the rest of his balls.

He raised his head over hers, his cerulean blue eyes raking over her face. Her lips were slightly parted-breathless-as the crease in her brow deepened. Her body shook slightly as she tried to twist her face away–revealing that she was in pain.

His lips brushed along her jawline as a rush of lust overcame him at her expression. His balls swelled.

“Your pussy’s beggin’ for me, princess.”

He withdrew his hips slightly, letting his cock slide out before shoving it back in at the depth he was at before. Her body lurched. Her hands instinctively grasped his shoulders to hold onto something as she arched in pain.

Despite the cry she’d let out–she’d still heard the lewd, wet sound that filled the air.

“Hear that,” his lips were at the cusp of her ear, “That’s how wet you are.”

His hand cupped her tit again before squeezing it-harshly. She wanted to yelp but squeezed her eyes shut instead, biting down on her lower lip to quiet herself. If her Dad awoke to seeing her like this…

“You wanted this, didn't you?” Gojo’s ragged voice cut through her thoughts, “Isn’t that what you told Millie?”

His cock snapped in and out again. At the same depth as before. Barely a fourth in.

She gasped through her teeth. Her body trembled as she tried not to be too loud. He hadn’t gone deeper but god-the action was so unfamiliar, her insides felt like a mess.

“You told her you wanted to lose your virginity tonight.”

Her eyes snapped open in horror.

She had told her she was open to that but that was in confidence—and it wasn’t like that was her sole goal for the night.

Suddenly he leaned back, letting himself stand completely upright between her legs. His hands slipped up her thighs, spreading her legs further open—far and wide.

He stared down at her through half-lidded, hungry eyes.

“I’ll give you what you want, princess.”

Her eyes widened before she attempted to lift her hips away from him, but his hands suddenly wound themselves around her calves. His hands slipped under the bend of her knees before shoving her legs apart, forcing her hips back down into the bed.

She felt his tip poke her entrance.

She gasped—fear consuming her as she twisted helplessly. His hold was too strong for her to move. She attempted to pry his fingers off of her legs.

“Gojo-please, please-no, no-I can’t—“

Her little mewls shouldn’t have made his cock stiffer. He leaned over her, spreading her legs further open as his hands pushed her knees up. She felt the tip of his cock poke at her wetness.

His lips brushed against hers as she jolted. She was so sensitive, he loved it.

“Don’t be like that, kitten,” his voice a low murmur against her lips, “I told you I wanted you.. you should’ve came to me first.”

His hips shot forward, burrowing the full length of his cock inside of her all at once.

He caught her scream with his lips, kissing her deep and slow as she trembled underneath him.

Her nails dug into his shoulders. The pain was so blinding she couldn’t think. She felt so full–she felt like a new space had just been forced apart within her.

She writhed underneath him, unable to think until she pried her lips away from his. Her teeth clenched as she turned her head aside, trying so hard not to scream as his cock throbbed inside of her—forcing her pussy to accommodate.

She let out a choked breath, her cunt inadvertently squeezing around him.

“Fuck,” He groaned, the sound muffled as he pressed his face into her hair. “Takin’ me so well, princess.”

He slightly pressed his hips further into her, reveling in the feeling of how the walls of her cunt didn’t let him go, “Feel so fuckin’ good.”

She winced, moaning in pain as she squeezed her eyes shut. Her fingers clasping and unclasping his shoulders.

His blue eyes scanned her face, a look of adoration and pure lust mixing within his gaze as he ran his hand down her temple to move her hair out of her face.

“Your virginity was always mine.” he stated, huskily–with all the confidence in the world.

Her cunt squeezed around him and his hips jutted into her. Just as she cried out he pressed a desperate kiss to her lips. The feeling of his cock completely stuffing her and his lips on hers simultaneously jumbled her body and nerves like no other. She whimpered.

He broke the kiss before leaning back. His gaze darkened as he took in the view before him.

His hands on her thighs spread her legs some more, causing a soft whimper to leave her lips. Her full, perky tits were shiny with sweat. And her legs—they looked so fucking sexy, completely outspread for him like that. He could feel every tremble of her thighs go straight to his cock.

And her cunt—her cunt looked so good, completely stuffed to brim by him. Her warm pussy juices leaked over the edge of his cock. He didn’t miss the line of blood slipping down her cunt to ass.

She looked so ready to be used.

And that’s exactly what he did.

He fucked her hard. He didn’t care how loud the bed was. His dick slammed in and out of her relentlessly—lewd sounds of her wetness filling the room as she cried out with each rough fuck. If she thought the pain was bad before, it was nothing compared to now.

He was just so damn big. She swore she could feel each ridge and vein of his dick against her pussy walls—his cock forced her pussy to fit.

His countenance was focused despite being lost in complete bliss. Her pussy was his. Only his.

He didn’t slow down—continuously ramming his dick into her. The tip of cock hitting her walls each time, making her body jump up and quiver. Her tits bounced satisfyingly with each body breaking fuck.

“Ohh—god, fuck—stop, p-please—“ she was absolutely dumbstruck.

“You can take it.” He spread her legs wider, making her back arch in pain.

He leaned forward, picking up his pace somehow, “I’ll be the first and last dick you have—you hear me? This cunt’s mine.”

She breathed haggardly, her brain lost in a fog of pain as that heat she felt earlier slowly crept back up. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Nngh—!” was all that left her mouth when he continued to fuck her out. He kept spreading her legs open further–his grip on her legs firm as he let his cock hit her at an even deeper angle.

“Hurts!” she cried out, wincing, “Gojo—please—“

He didn’t stop. His cock slamming in and out of her roughly. Her cunt felt so damn good—so tight.

He licked a bead of sweat that shone along her cheekbone, “I know, princess.”

She was a mess. Her hands gripping his shoulders tightly as she let him do whatever he pleased. It hurt so bad she couldn’t think–but there was a small part of her that was reveling in the feeling he was arousing. She couldn’t explain it.

“Gojo, please, stop–” she whined, helplessly, tears slipping down the corner of her eyes once more.

His hand went to her navel, gently pressing into her lower stomach. He growled when he felt the slight bump of his tip hitting his hand. Fuck, her pussy felt too good.

He looked down at her. Her tits swung in hypnotizing circles. Her hair was completely unruly over the sheets and her face shone with tears.

His voice was rough as he muttered, “Such a pretty crier–S’not fair.”

Her cunt tightened at his words and he groaned through clenched teeth. She felt his dick throb inside her and couldn’t help but shiver at the unfamiliar feeling. She felt like wasn’t on this planet. This feeling burning within her skin, the lewd noises filling the room. The odd sensation of gradually building up subtly under the pain.

“You like that, hmm? You like when I compliment you while breaking you open?”

She shook her head, “N-no, please-nnghh, it hurts. Hurts.”

“You can take it, princess.”

He leaned forward, enrapturing her lips in forceful kiss as he pressed his hips into her. Letting the length of his cock fully submerge into her warm wetness. Her body arched underneath him, her tits pressing into his firm chest as he kept her down.

She felt his cock twitch and she gasped, breaking the kiss, “G-gojo—!”

He buried his face into her neck, groaning as he shoved his cock further into her. She winced.

Then suddenly she felt his cock pulsate within her. She felt something warm and thick fill her up—a lot of it. She swore she felt it drip down her ass.

He came… inside me. She went limp in shock.

He slumped over her, catching his breath. His weight nearly crushing her until his dick spasmed within her, shooting out the last loads of cum within her cunt.

He came a lot. He knew he had—it wasn’t usually like this but fuck, he had to see it.

He leaned off of her slowly. He slipped his hands around her legs once more, spreading her open to see his dick still lodged deep within her.

She was just so warm down there… Fuck, he almost didn’t want to pull out.

He noticed streaks of his cum had slipped out, joining the trail of blood and pussy juice that trailed down to her ass. His cock jerked in her pussy at the sight.

He slowly pulled himself out, his cock leaving her pussy with a satisfying ‘pop’ when he finally withdrew himself completely. A string of cum was still attached to her pussy from his tip when he pulled out.

A second later, more cum poured out of her cunt. And more. Streaks of blood were mixed in here and there but Fuck—how much did he cum?

His cum leaked out of her cunt and slipped down her ass onto the sheets. The sight was so erotic he didn’t notice that his cock was fully erect again. His balls throbbing once-more.

He ran a hand over his dick, giving it a few pumps before squeezing the tip to watch one last bead of cum pour out. He swiped at the cum with his fingers, collecting it.

He brought his fingers to her lips. Her eyes were closed but then opened half-way at his touch. Her whole body ached from the aftermath of their sex, she was completely worn out.

“Open your mouth.” he murmured.

She blinked, before opening her mouth compliantly.

He placed his finger in her mouth, “Suck.”

She did. Her little tongue swiped at the substance coating his fingers and squinted at the taste. She didn’t know what to make of it.

He smirked, that typical darkly handsome smirk of his– “Good girl.”

She lay in bed, curled up into a ball under the sheets. She still hadn’t gotten up to shower yet-despite desperately feeling the need to shower after getting railed by Gojo Satoru.

She still couldn’t believe that had just happened.

Her whole body ached, each physical movement causing some sort of strain on her body. Her throat felt dry and her legs still felt sticky despite having pissed already. She was still in a state of shock.

She hadn’t gotten the nerve-or will-to move because Gojo was still here.

He lay on the bed next to her. She couldn’t see him because her back was to him. She needed him to leave.

She felt the bed shift under his weight and suddenly his presence felt closer. His voice arose from somewhere near her shoulder,

“Are you sleeping?”

She jolted slightly, at his closeness—before scooting further away from him on the bed.

“Hm.. you mad at me then?”

Her brows furrowed. Why’d he say it like I shouldn’t be?

She needed him to leave but she refused to talk to him. She’d experienced abuse before this…but this was different. He’d taken her virginity.

She flinched when she felt him press a delicate kiss to her shoulder.

“C’monnn, princess,” he urged—whining slightly, “Talk to me.”

She didn’t want to. When the silence ensued she thought she heard a low sigh.

“You’re not allowed to give me the silent treatment anymore.” he muttered, discontentedly.

Her eyes snapped open at that—unsure what to make of his words. She wasn’t sure if that was a threat or just more of him whining. He was so unpredictable, she had no clue how to safely navigate this situation.

She didn’t trust his current easygoing-ness one bit. She didn’t know what he would do to her if she said something wrong—something he didn’t like. She wanted to be defiant but she was… terrified. She’d never been overpowered like that—completely bent to someone else’s will.

She still felt the imprint of his large hands around her legs, gripping her thighs firmly in place-to keep her spread open for him no matter how much she struggled. He barely budged when she’d twisted and turned-trying to escape. He dominated her easily every time. His strength scared her.

She closed her eyes, willing her heart rate to calm down. She needed to think through the fear but she wasn’t ever any good at acting.

She hesitantly poked her head out from the blanket, turning slightly to face him.

His blue eyes sparkled at the sight of her.

“Do you know what you just did to me?” her voice wavered, resisting the urge to snap at him, “Why would I want to talk to you.”

He was propped up on one elbow, shirtless, as he lay beside her. His white hair was completely ruffled, with strands poking out in different directions. A subtle pout appeared on his lips as he contemplated her question. His white brows furrowing.

She wished he’d put his shirt on.

He sighed, “Me and you were gonna happen regardless so..” he shrugged.

She blinked, staring at him in complete disbelief. There was so many things wrong with that that she didn’t even know where to start.

His fingertips skimmed her cheekbones, tucking her hair behind her ear. She resisted the urge to flinch.

She watched him in complete stunned silence.

He was gazing at her, almost adoringly. She could tell from his line of sight that he could see the hickeys decorating her neck. Now that he’d moved her hair out of her face, they were more visible.

His crystalline eyes flitted to hers, catching her staring. A brief look of surprise flashed over his eyes before a smug smile spread across his lips.

“I’m pretty, right?”

She blinked, speaking impulsively, “You’re insane.”

“Fix me then.”

Her eyes widened before flinching when his hand slipped over her stomach, lightly pressing her down so that she lay flat on her back instead of her side.

She froze. Her body alert with fear as he leaned towards her. He placed his head on her shoulder, letting himself lie comfortably over her.

He threw his long leg over her tiny frame. She was still partly naked under the blanket—but lucky for her, he wasn’t under the sheets.

“Don’t chicks love that shit?” he continued before sighing, “I wish you wanted to fix me.”

She glanced down at him, at his fluffy white head on her shoulder—his hair tickling her chin. He was so big compared to her that despite him being the one trying to ‘cuddle’ on her, his large stature still gave the appearance that he was spooning her.

She shifted slightly under his weight, wondering how he was comfortable. She supposed he didn’t have much to worry about—considering he was laying atop of her and seemed to live life doing whatever the hell he wanted.

Fix him? she wanted to laugh. The only thing that would fix him is jail.

She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to tremble slightly. How am I going to get out of this?

a/n: hi guys-first of all-woAh u made it. ik this was hella long, more of a short story than a one-shot but i hope y'all enjoyeddd. i realized like half-way thru editing that i never explained that some of the bolded, italicized text is spoken/narrated from our oc (ara) from the future. anyway, lmk what y'all think & if a part II is something that would interest u. eitherway, have a good day!! UPDATE: lol so here's the next chapter (pls read @ ur own risk bc it only gets worse from here... dun duN DUN)

605 notes · View notes

pankowkisses · 2 days ago

Text

I would like to say that I can not bring myself to edit that scene, or even post a goodbye to jj because as much as he is just a character he is… was my comfort character. Jj helped me through some difficult times in my life, and I’m forever grateful for that that, not only did Jj help me but he also gave me Rudy which I’m so so thankful he’s still here. Words can express the pain I’m feeling right now, it may seem silly but I’m grieving over Jj. Yes he may have only been a fictional character to some people but to me and other ppl he was more than that, he was comfort, he was one character that alot of ppl related to in many ways, so i really don’t want to say goodbye and I may be in denial, but I don’t care I don’t… I can’t lose Jj, him and Rudy are the only things who got me through my darkness, they are the ones who helped me when i thought i couldn’t be helped, I will always be a Jj fan I’ll re watch all the episodes from ep1 szn 1 to ep 9 szn4 because they show me Jj, and Jj was alive in those so yes I’ll be in denial for atleast a little while,

So i don’t want yall to expect edits of that scene or a goodbye jj post because I am not in the right place mentally after that scene, I feel like someone has ripped my heart out and crushed it to millions of pieces, I’ve cried so much in the matter of Js under 24 hours, I cried myself to sleep last night, it may sound silly and dramatic, because he’s just a fictional character when he was more than that a hell of a lot more than that, he was my comfort I have a lot in common with Jj and I always will, I just want to say I love you j, so damn much I love you forever.

Rest in peace my angel 🕊️🤍🥺

#jj maybank #outer banks #outerbanks #rudy pankow #obx #obx4

21 notes · View notes

envy-of-the-apple · 4 months ago

Note

AHHH the whole suguru and satoru liking older women thing is so>>. to me it’s so much easier imaging Satoru chasing after someone older since he really does give bratty youngest sibling vibes… like especially with how he reacted in front of that kfc after losing a bad bitch (suguru)… he’s not used to being told no for SURE. And he’d def chase after someone that has their shit together and KNOWS better than to give in to his manipulation, which is makes him all the more intrigued and hungry to vie for that person’s attention. prime example being just how annoying he gets towards nanami.

BUT that does make me wonder what suguru is like then. I don’t know if he’s necessarily the type of person to chase— or at least not in the pestering way that Satoru does. If he were to go after someone older, does he reach a point of desperation when they don’t give in? like, no this cult leader pretty boy with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and overly polite mannerisms that scream of ulterior motives is NOT gonna get the pass from someone who is older and clocks his ill intentions from a mile away. I’m sure Satoru is in it for the long haul when it comes to chasing after someone, but suguru… at some point he’d prolly just kidnap you and force you to stay in one of the rooms of his temple until you get Stockholm syndrome I swear. He seems more like the type of person who demands to have the reigns / control over the situation, and he wouldn’t necessarily entertain any rejection or retaliation in the way Satoru does (his lil masochist ass prolly enjoys being a top tier menace just so you keep pushing him away tbh).

I’m getting ahead of myself, but I do wanna see your perspective on how he is with someone who is equally as level-headed as him (if not more than, considering seniority and being more jaded/experienced with dealing with creepy ppl). Suguru and Satoru def have different approaches to gaining the attention of an older person they like. I say person rather than woman bc they’re def both… lil bi whores…. freaky frotters if you will. explored each others’ bodies for sure… Also I love your works SO SO MUCH! I came here from your ao3 and I’m genuinely in awe whenever I read your stuff… it def inspires me when I’m writing my own jjk works lmao (takes me like 50 business years to write a single fic on ao3 but it’s okay we ball).

awwww bestie tytyty so so much youre so nice!!!!

kkkkk so I do think that Suguru prefers older women while Satoru leans more towards older men. Like have you seen that guy? Daddy issues, clearly. If Toji wasn't, yknow, actively hunting him down, Gojo would definitely be obsessed with him like Noaya

I totally agree with what you said! For Suguru, it really is about control. I feel like Suguru sees the age difference like a certain power dynamic that he can twist around, if that makes sense? When he goes after someone, he definitely expects them to come quietly. I feel like he'd enjoy the chase a little bit, but only a little. He'd quickly get bored and the flimsy excuses of 'I'm ten years older than you' 'I have a husband and a child' will start to get a little annoying. I feel like the ppl he goes after will know he's dangerous and not to mess with him.

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark jjk #asks

36 notes · View notes

adobewanphotobi · 4 months ago

Text

There’s more detail in this post but long story short, the organizer of rafflesforpalestine deleted her blog recently, which also unfortunately led to the deletion of the raffle blog. In light of that, anyone who submitted or will submit a ticket for my drawing or needle felt commissions can message proof of their donation to this blog and I’ll use my own randomizer to draw a winner on July 31 (still accounting for $5 for one ticket, $10 for two, etc)

I don’t expect this to have a lot of reach since I know a lot of the bidders don’t follow me here, but I hope this helps a little bit!! I’m blown away by the number of people who donated, like- I really wasn’t expecting this much of a response to my stuff and i can’t overstate how much it means to me that so many ppl donated to Haya and Hamdi’s gofundmes. It also appears that Hamdi’s gofundme was deleted recently which breaks my fucking heart, but I’ll still be honoring any donations sent to that gofundme. If anyone is interested in donating to his family, his PayPal is @hamdihej and still up as far as I can tell.

Lastly, I want to say to please please please not hold this against ibtisams. months of continuously vetting and platforming gofundmes, organizing 200 artists for a raffle and figuring out logistics for counting entries, dealing with the constant harassment all palestinians face online, all on top of losing her father and sister in an ongoing genocide is fucking insane, and I wish her the best and hope that being offline will alleviate at least some of her burdens.

#rafflesforpalestine #was literally looking at hamdis gofundme a few days ago :/#I’m also deleting a post I reblogged that said she was suspended but please don’t harass that person either!!!

30 notes · View notes

defectivevillain · 1 year ago

Text

this broken design, ch5

summary: “Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

read from the beginning here! [this won’t make much sense, otherwise]

[ao3 version]

notes: I privated my ao3 account so that only registered users can see it... since all the ai stuff has been going on and I'd rather be safe than sorry.... I'm not sure how many ppl follow with the series here on Tumblr, but I figured I'd post it here too, in case any of you don’t have an ao3 account... [I posted this a bit ago on ao3, so apologies for the tardiness]

the gif above is so funny. the lil head tilt is killing me, idk.

warnings: panic attack, self harm (digging nails into skin), franklyn having zero boundaries

You’re in Hannibal’s home again. You really need to have more self-preservation—you’re practically a gift-wrapped murder victim here. Although, he hasn’t killed you yet. Maybe you’ll be fine. Perhaps you aren’t as rude as you thought you were. The thought amuses you.

Inexplicably, as you’re speaking with Hannibal, he asks you to accompany him to the opera. The request is so unexpected that it takes you several moments to realize you heard him correctly. Hannibal stares at you expectantly and you take a deep breath.

“You realize I don’t know the first thing about opera,” you remark apprehensively. “Surely there are far better choices than me.” Doesn’t he have acquaintances that are more suited for this type of outing? You’re certain you would look extremely out of place amidst the typical visitors. Surely, Hannibal knows that he will put his reputation at risk by bringing you along. You try to convey those sentiments in the eye contact you’re currently maintaining with the man, but he doesn’t seem dissuaded in the slightest.

“You are my friend and I want to spend time with you,” Hannibal states easily. You envy his ability to be so straightforward with his thoughts and feelings. “Is that really so strange?”

“I suppose not,” you frown. Fond of breaking doctor-patient boundaries, are we, Dr. Lecter? You dispel the thought. Admittedly, from the first moment you interacted with Hannibal, you knew he would be more than a psychiatrist. You’re happy to consider him a close friend now.

“Are you amenable?” Hannibal then asks, just before you can zone out and lose focus.

“When is it?” You ask, despite knowing that you don’t have much going on this week anyway.

“Tomorrow night,” Hannibal answers. You raise an eyebrow.

“Rather late notice,” you say, if only to make him sweat a bit. Of course, Hannibal’s perfectly crafted mask remains in place. “Did your date cancel on you?” Hannibal’s eyebrows furrow and he crosses his arms over his chest. You decide to take pity on him and stop messing around.

“I’m just kidding,” you interject with a grin. It’s kind of fun to see how much you can push Hannibal around. You get the feeling that no one really questions him. It’s amusing to see him scramble for an explanation, even though the effort is perfectly rehearsed. “I think I’m free; I’d love to go. You just may have to deal with my complete ignorance when it comes to opera music.”

“I think I’ll survive,” Hannibal smiles. Is he playing along? You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Admittedly, you weren’t expecting that. It’s nice to know that Hannibal can take a joke.

“Anyway, thank you for inviting me into your home again; I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Of course not,” Hannibal says with a shake of his head, as if the very thought is ludicrous.

“I invited you.” Hannibal then excuses himself for a moment and you take the opportunity to look around his kitchen. You suppress the extremely compelling urge to look through his drawers—you know what you’ll find and you’re certain you don’t want to see it. Instead, you let your eyes rove over the polished cabinets and clean counters. Just before you can lose interest, your gaze falls on the rolodex. Interest peaking, you decide to walk towards it.

It appears the rolodex holds business cards of people Hannibal has met. You idly flip through the rolodex, needing something to occupy your restless hands. A few of the names are (unsurprisingly) ones you recognize. It takes you a few moments of observation to realize just what purpose this rolodex serves. It appears this is a list of potential murder victims. Flipping through the various business cards, you don’t see a common denominator. “Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude,” Hannibal had told you once. On second thought, these business cards are probably people that Hannibal has determined to be rude. You go through the names with renewed interest. A few of them are rather fancy. One even looks remarkably close to yours. You move to the next one before a breath catches in your chest and you find yourself returning to the one that caught your eye.

The business card is extremely similar to yours—same color and font. You squint at it, heart racing in your chest as you look at the name written on it. It must be another government agent, surely. You all have similar, standard-issue business cards. You just hope it isn’t any of your acquaintances. You’re expecting to see anyone from Jack Crawford to Alana Bloom. You close your eyes for a moment, before finally giving in and reading the name. It’s… It’s your name.

You stare at the card in disbelief. Where did Hannibal get your business card? It has your name, phone number, email address… It even has your office location at headquarters. You swallow past the trepidation building in your core. You can’t quite stop the choked laugh that escapes your lips. You let your guard down. You had foolishly hoped that maybe, just maybe, things would be different. You let your guard down and, now, your name rests amidst the names of current and future Ripper victims.

“Is everything alright?” The timing could not be worse. Hannibal walks in as you’re looking at the rolodex and you quickly turn around, trying to shield it from his view. You’re not sure what expression is on your face, but it must be suitably harrowed, because his face twists in concern—mock concern, your mind supplies. “You look rather shaken.”

“Yes, of course,” you answer. It takes every ounce of practice you’ve accumulated to keep the fear from your voice. You sound slightly flat, but you’re convinced that you’ve mostly concealed your true feelings. “Apologies, Dr. Lecter. I think I’d better get going.”

You can tell that Hannibal is suspicious, but you don’t give him the chance to ask you about it—instead deigning to murmur a quick goodbye and walk out to your car. You’re infinitely grateful that you had the foresight to drive yourself. You’re not sure that you would’ve had the energy to maintain your composure in Hannibal’s company.

You wait until you’re a sufficient distance from Hannibal’s home to sag in your seat and sigh heavily. You’d been growing too big of an ego. Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper. The two of you are friends and you foolishly assumed that your friendship gave you immunity. Clearly, that isn’t the case. You need to remember yourself, remember that the composed dinner host you often sit across from is a practiced killer. One false move and you’re dead. Once you get home, you spend the remainder of the evening in an anxious and paranoid haze. It takes you a while to fall asleep that night and, when you do, the Ripper follows you into your dreams.

The next morning, you receive a text from Hannibal—which includes the details of the opera and what time he plans to pick you up. It takes you several moments to ground yourself in reality and remember that Hannibal isn’t aware of your knowledge that he’s the Ripper. Once you collect your composure, you insist that you can drive yourself—but he waves off the suggestion and maintains that he’ll drive. Admittedly, now that you’re thinking about it, you don’t have the slightest clue what to wear. You’ve never really been to an opera performance before, and you can only imagine what the people in attendance will be wearing. You have no idea where to begin searching for an outfit. Your closet isn’t exactly the best.

Eventually, you swallow your pride and text Hannibal. He knows you’re not sophisticated, you think to yourself. Asking him for help isn’t that embarrassing. In fact, you’d rather ask and lose a bit of dignity than try to puzzle it out on your own [and fail miserably.] Hannibal is quick to respond—almost as if he had been expecting the question—and says that he’ll bring clothes for you. You immediately have several objections to that, but they fall on determined ears. You regret asking, now.

A few hours later, there’s a quiet knock on your door. You open the door to find Hannibal waiting on your doorstep, folded clothing in hand. You shake your head in exasperation and let him in. “Thank you,” you say, taking the clothes he’s extending out to you. You still feel the need to try to argue one more time. “I could’ve found something on my own.”

Hannibal looks you up and down, in a manner that makes you feel extremely self conscious. You aren’t exactly wearing the fanciest clothing right now, but that’s only because you knew you’d be changing. “Doubtful,” Hannibal remarks. You glare at him, only to find his lips twisted in that slightly amused smirk. You roll your eyes.

“I’m going to change,” You then realize that this is the first time that Hannibal has been in your home. He’s driven you many times, but he’s never gotten out of the car before. “Feel free to explore, I guess.” You’re struck with the sudden mundane feeling of shame, as you recognize how much less luxurious your home is. Hannibal doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he starts to walk around and look at things. Meanwhile, you head to the bathroom.

Once you place the clothes on the bathroom counter, you’re once again realizing that you’re out of your depth. The outfit he’s given you is extremely lavish: an extravagant suit with dress pants. Upon further examination, you realize that he even gave you an undershirt. You push aside all the strange, conflicting feelings you have about wearing clothes your psychiatrist provided you. The clothes even smell very strongly of Hannibal’s cologne. It takes all of your resistance not to cough once you put them on. You’re not very fond of fragrances to begin with, since they often give you headaches. But, you know you have no right to complain. It was extremely generous of Hannibal to lend you clothing, and you don’t plan to disrespect the gesture by complaining about his cologne. You put on the rest of the clothing and assess yourself in the mirror. You look rather good, you have to admit. Of course, it’s all due to Hannibal’s clothing. You take a moment to brush your teeth again before walking back out into the main area of the house, where Hannibal seems to be looking at your decorations with a keen eye. He turns around upon hearing you enter and, for a long moment, the two of you stare at each other in silence.

Inexplicably, Hannibal breaks the distance between you and reaches out. Your heart is racing in your chest but you manage to remain still. He fiddles with your collar for a moment before stepping back, apparently satisfied with his work. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Better?” You ask sardonically.

“Much,” Hannibal remarks. “Shall we?” He holds out an arm and you scoff. Hannibal freezes and you do, too. Shit. You hadn’t meant to scoff aloud. You compensate by putting your hand on his arm and he sends you a smile that is almost… fond. You immediately disregard that notion.

The drive to the opera house is enjoyable. Hannibal is one of the few people that you feel comfortable enough to share silence with. You don’t feel the need to constantly fill the air and, so, you spend most of the ride staring out the window and looking at the trees. Before long, Hannibal is pulling into a parking space and the two of you are ascending the stairs leading to the opera house. The building is rather grand, with beautiful towering pillars and elegant statues decorating the path to the entrance. When you enter, you’re unsurprised to see Hannibal’s mask slide neatly into place.

Evidently, Hannibal has been here before, because he navigates the opera house with practiced ease. There are several people that greet him upon his entrance, and he smiles and sends them a courteous wave. You idly wonder if he truly likes any of these people, or if he merely tolerates them. As you continue to walk in, you’re brutally aware of the gazes searing into your back. You’re sure that Hannibal will be the talk of the town soon enough—you get the feeling he never brings people to these kinds of events. Indeed, he seems the type to want to appreciate art in solitude. You debate asking him once more if he’s okay with being seen with you here. Within a few moments, you’re finally in the area where the performance is scheduled to occur. Hannibal leads you to your seats—which are in one of the balconies—and you can’t suppress your thoughts any longer. Thankfully, it seems no one else has found their seats in your section just yet.

“You realize how this looks, right?” You finally ask. Hannibal sends a curious glance at you and you refuse to acknowledge how handsome he looks right now. You avert your eyes for a moment, instead watching as the people below file into their seats. “Everyone thinks that I’m… you know.” Hannibal continues to stare at you with a blank expression. Damn it, is he really going to make you explain it? You try to push past your embarrassment and remain professional. “I think they’re under the impression that we’re… dating.”

“The thought makes you uncomfortable,” Hannibal states, crossing one leg over the other. That must be why he chose these seats—he probably needs the legroom. The people below are milling about, talking with one another. You’re grateful that these seats are isolated from everyone else—there’s no expectation for you to talk to anyone.

“No, it doesn’t,” you clarify, wondering how he justified that leap in logic. “Besides, if anyone’s reputation is going to be at risk, it’ll be yours.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Hannibal says, something akin to amusement on his face. You’re not sure what he’s finding so amusing—you don’t think your statement was far-fetched or unreasonable. From the moment you walked in, you noticed quite a few people staring at Hannibal and you. They seemed to be making their own conclusions about the two of you; you just wanted to warn him. “I am not worried about my reputation.”

“You think your reputation won’t be affected?” You squint at him, trying to watch for a reaction. “...Or you just don’t care?” Your companion is silent for a moment.

“I was under the impression that I was the psychiatrist here,” Hannibal then remarks lightly. He sends you a look and you feel a momentary inkling of shame.

“Sorry,” you grimace. Hannibal’s lips quirk at the sides—a sign that he isn’t truly upset about your sudden psychoanalysis. You feel the need to justify your reaction regardless. “It’s easy to slip into the criminal profiling mindset sometimes,”

You spend the next several minutes having lighthearted conversation. It’s rather nice. The theater slowly begins to fill up until, finally, the lights dim and someone appears on the stage. To your surprise, the performance is rather enjoyable. You must be rather horrible at hiding your preconceptions, because Hannibal sends you a knowing look after the first song. You pretend not to notice the smugness radiating off the man, and instead focus on the singer. They’re quite talented, unsurprisingly. You’re not quite sure how much the tickets were, but judging from your surroundings, you’d guess they were rather expensive.

You take advantage of the brief intermission in the middle of the program to use the facilities. Once you’re finished, you move to go back into the theatre. However, there’s suddenly a hand grabbing your shoulder and you’re forcefully guided into a deserted hallway. You chance a glance over your shoulder, only to find a far too familiar patient of Dr. Lecter’s: Franklyn Froideveaux.

“Franklyn,” you remark, feeling extremely apprehensive once you recognize him. The man is wearing a three-piece suit again, but this time it’s eerily similar to something Hannibal might wear. You frown at the thought. Franklyn’s obsession with Dr. Lecter is really rather creepy. If Hannibal weren’t such a capable killer, perhaps you’d be worried for him.

“I saw you with Dr. Lecter,” Franklyn states matter-of-factly. He crowds you against the wall and you have to lean back against it to avoid touching him. The look in the man’s eyes is unnerving. It sends a shiver down your spine. There’s nothing in his irises except madness.

“Yes,” you respond, once you realize that Franklyn is awaiting an answer. You don’t tell him that Hannibal invited you, but he seems to come to that conclusion on his own.

“What did he do?” Franklyn asks. “Did he hold the car door open for you? What cologne does he wear? I have a few ideas but I can’t decide between them.” You feel your head begin to ache at his persistent badgering. You’re deeply unsettled by him.

“What’s it like being friends with Dr. Lecter?” He continues. Franklyn doesn’t even give you a chance to respond, as he continues rattling off questions. “Is he a good friend? Do you two spend time together?”

“Um-” You try to say, only for Franklyn to stop mid-tirade. His eyes quickly lock on the suit you’re wearing and you grit your teeth. This is easily one of the most uncomfortable interactions you’ve ever had, and it isn’t even over yet. You flinch as he puts a hand on your shoulder.

“That’s not your clothing,” Franklyn remarks, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. His fingers dig into your shoulder and you wince. His grip is beginning to hurt; you think you may have bruises later. “You're wearing something Dr. Lecter gave you.”

“No, I’m not,” you try to argue, well aware that your voice doesn't sound very convincing.

“Yes, you are,” Franklyn asserts, not indicating that he’s hearing you or even seeing you. His eyes are glazed and it almost seems as if he’s looking directly through you. “He gave you clothes. Why? What does he see in you?”

Ouch. That hurts for a microsecond, before you then realize that Franklyn’s opinion bears absolutely no relevance to your life. You want to speak on those thoughts, but there’s a crazed look in the man’s eyes and you decide to stay silent. Franklyn seems to take your silence as an argument itself, though, because his hand tightens on your shoulder rather painfully. You try to shove him off, but the man’s grip is unyielding.

A familiar voice calls your name from further down the hallway. You squint, only to find Hannibal walking towards the two of you. There’s an inexplicable expression on his face, and you can’t even begin to dissect it.

“Hannibal,” you breathe, unable to hide the relief you feel at his presence. Franklyn finally releases his grip on you and you reach a hand up to massage your shoulder. The man’s attention is off of you now, thankfully.

“I presumed you to be lost, but I see that notion is incorrect,” Hannibal says, his gaze flitting about your face as if looking for any sign of distress. He then looks at Franklyn, disinterest and boredom evident in his expression. Of course, Franklyn doesn’t care to notice it. He sees what he wants to see, you think to yourself. “What is going on here? Franklyn?”

Franklyn looks to you expectantly, as if waiting for you to lie for him. You instead remain silent. You know that, right now, telling the truth will unnecessarily escalate the situation. Besides, your exhaustion is starting to catch up with you and you can’t find the energy to continue the conversation.

“We were just having a friendly conversation.” Franklyn answers. Hannibal looks to you for confirmation and you avert your eyes. Meanwhile, Franklyn seems to be falling over himself in an attempt to secure Hannibal’s attention. “Dr. Lecter, it’s so nice to see you here,” Franklyn says, his voice a far cry from the manic lunacy from before. The sudden change is rather dizzying. This man is suffocating to be around. “You know, I thought this might be your kind of place. I was just speaking to your friend here…”

You place a hand on your temple, beginning to get a migraine from the sheer burst of emotions surrounding Franklyn. Your skills in criminal profiling typically allow you to get a sense of other people’s feelings. At worst, you can get a trace of what they feel. Right now, however, you feel every emotion Franklyn is exuding, and it’s enough to make your vision grainy and fuzzy. He continues prattling on, but all you can sense is the horrible flood of obsession, jealousy, and a visceral desire so palpable that it makes you nauseous.

You put a hand to the wall behind you, feeling the need to brace yourself against something. Everything in the background falls to a dull buzzing rhythm—Franklyn’s giddy conversation with Hannibal, the muted sound of the performance that you can hear through the walls. You close your eyes and beg for the torture to stop. Maybe Franklyn will take pity on you and walk away. Maybe Hannibal will lose his patience and walk away, too—you wouldn’t be surprised.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your forearm. You vaguely register—through swirling vision—Hannibal leading you further down the abandoned hallway until he stops and pushes you into an armchair. Despite the overwhelming emotionality that Franklyn practically assaulted you with, you manage to scrounge up a rather large amount of guilt.

“Sorry,” you choke out to Hannibal. Your breathing is still a bit rough and your clothes feel incredibly constricting. You roll up the sleeves of your jacket—well, Hannibal’s jacket—and try to stammer out the rest of your apology. “Feel free to go back inside; I just need a moment.”

You place a hand over your aching temple and another on the arm of the chair. Selfishly, you think that you could use Hannibal’s support, but you don’t want to occupy his attention when the performance is still happening. You close your eyes and try to pretend that your ears aren’t buzzing. You wait to hear his footsteps as he retreats; you wait to hear an acquiescence. A few seconds pass. Instead, there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Dr. Lecter,” you choke out, your eyes beginning to burn. You wipe at them furiously, despite knowing that the effort is futile. “Go back inside.”

“No,” Hannibal says. You can’t see the expression on his face through your blurred vision—you just pray that it isn’t annoyance or irritation.

“I’ll be fine,” you maintain through gritted teeth. You think you hear Hannibal sigh at that, but it could easily be your imagination. The man looks down at you before pressing a cool hand to your forehead. Despite knowing that he’ll withdraw his hand in a few moments, you can’t help but lean into the touch.

“I’m sure,” Hannibal remarks, pulling you up to your feet and steadying you as your balance wavers. He places your hand on his arm and the two of you walk back in the direction you came. To your surprise, when you reach the door to the theater, Hannibal pivots and leads you towards the exit. You shake your head in disbelief as humiliation, shame, and guilt battle for prominence in your chest. Before long, Hannibal has led the two of you into his car. The moment you’re in his car, you bury your head in your hands.

Everything in your vision feels harsher and sharper. You begin to dig your nails into your palms unconsciously, hoping for some means to establish yourself in reality. You don’t realize you’re doing it until Hannibal reaches out and pries your hands apart. Your hands are trembling ever so slightly and you ball them into fists.

You’re not sure how much time you spend trying to regain your composure in the passenger seat of Hannibal’s car. Dignity is a foreign concept. You’re sure the embarrassment will catch up to you later—perhaps when you’re home and have some time to think.

At some point, Hannibal begins driving. Thankfully, the roads aren’t bumpy and the ride is rather smooth. He’s entirely silent and you feel the beginnings of remorse prickling along your skin. Hannibal never asked you to explain your interaction with Franklyn, but you feel that he deserves to know what happened.

“You realize Franklyn’s in love with you, right?” You blurt out, before quickly turning your head to look out the window and avoid Hannibal’s gaze. Truthfully, you had hoped to lead into that a little bit more. Somehow, that statement was what came from your lips.

“Yes.” Hannibal responds, his eyes still locked on the road. You take the afforded opportunity to look at him, confident in the notion that you aren’t being observed right back. Hannibal seems… entirely unruffled. Then again, he always looks unbothered. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to notice when something bothers him.

“He asked me what cologne you wear,” you decide to start with. You describe how you had tried to make your way back to the theater, only to be stopped by Hannibal’s patient and led off into a secluded hallway. “Franklyn knew that I was wearing your clothes; he also wanted to know what it’s like to be friends with you.”

“What did you say?” Hannibal asks, his attention still focused on the road.

“Nothing; he didn’t let me get a word in edgewise,” you admit. You run a finger along the smooth fabric of your shirt sleeve. Unbeknownst to you, the sleeve had started to roll up on its own; you take a moment to fix that before continuing to speak. “He’s so… suffocating.”

“It seemed his presence was harming you,” Hannibal remarks bluntly. You nod in agreement. At first, the interaction was merely uncomfortable. However, once Hannibal appeared, Franklyn’s emotions hit you with full force.

“I could feel everything,” you break off for a moment. “The love, the obsession, the jealousy, the envy… It was overwhelming. That man is the darkest person I’ve ever met.”

“He isn’t a killer,” Hannibal points out. That’s true—you’ve seen your fair share of killers, with minds so dark that you couldn’t hope to find an escape. Even so, those criminals were… straightforward. Franklyn, on the other hand, is a paradox.

“I know,” you acknowledge. “Franklyn is extremely neurotic, though—arguably the worst I’ve ever seen. It’s stifling. He has debilitating control issues and a crippling urge to prove himself. He’s often a victim of his own envy and jealousy. His self-concept is… I can’t even begin to describe it.” Yet, there’s a thinly-veiled hunger in Hannibal’s eyes—he wants to hear what you have to say. You inhale slowly. Again, you feel as if you owe him for absolutely ruining his night. Besides, you’re sure that he already knows all this information anyway. Franklyn is his patient, after all.

“Franklyn is sort of… a shapeshifter, for lack of a better term. He’ll adjust and change himself to fit the situation best. When he’s in love, he’s dangerously obsessed. His unconventional actions are reassuring to him, though, because they give him a modicum of control—a control that he cannot possess over anything else.” You have a lot more that you could divulge on the matter, but you decide to stop there. Again, you’re convinced that Hannibal already knows all of that.

“I see why you’re Jack’s best profiler,” Hannibal says, finally looking away from the road to look at you. His eyes are glittering in the darkness. You roll your eyes at the unnecessary compliment, too tired to start an argument. To your surprise, when you look out the window, you realize that he’s driving down your street. That car ride had passed rather fast and within a few seconds, Hannibal is pulling into your driveway.

“We’re here,” you announce unnecessarily, grabbing the door handle and stepping out of the vehicle. To your surprise, Hannibal also gets out of the car. You squint at him in confusion, but he doesn’t seem to notice. You’re not quite sure what he’s playing at, but you’re too exhausted to figure it out. Instead of inquiring about his sudden interest in following you inside, you simply allow him to do so before closing the door behind him.

“Do you want this clothing back now?” You ask, unable to come up with any other explanation for his presence in your home. It’s not that you mind his intrusion—not at all, actually—but you’d feel more comfortable with a legitimate reason for his presence.

“If that’s acceptable,” Hannibal answers, breaking you out of your thoughts. His eyes are fixed on something on one of your bookshelves. You shake your head at his strange fascination with your living room decorations.

“Sure, I’ll go change; mind waiting here?” He assures you that he doesn’t mind waiting. You shut the door behind you in the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment. There are dark circles under your eyes and you look a little frazzled. Otherwise, you don’t look bad. Amazingly, you managed not to ruin Hannibal’s clothing—a feat you’re rather proud of yourself for. You settle for changing into a simple long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. As you change, you neatly fold Hannibal’s clothing into a pile. Once you’re done, you glance at your reflection one more time. You take a half-step backwards but, before you move to leave, your eyes catch on something below your collar. You squint and lean closer to the mirror, convinced that you’re seeing things. Somehow, though, you’re not. After a moment’s hesitation, you pull your shirt collar to the side, only to find harsh marks on your collarbone and shoulder. They’re almost in the shape of a handprint and it doesn’t take much detective work to realize who they’re from—Franklyn.

That realization is not very welcome, and you decide not to think about it right now. Remembering that Hannibal is waiting on you, you grab the folded pile of clothes and walk back out to the living room. Unsurprisingly, Hannibal is looking around with a scrutinizing gaze. You walk up to him and hold out the clothes, but his back is turned. You eventually just decide to place them on the entryway table—he’ll have to see them on the way out.

“Thank you for inviting me, it was very fun,” you smile. Hannibal turns around, seemingly just noticing your presence. Just what is he looking for in your humble living room? He certainly won’t find anything of value. Furthermore, your decoration skills are nowhere near his. You can’t find a reasonable explanation for his behavior and, eventually, you have to give up on trying to rationalize it.

“I’m glad you found the night enjoyable,” he answers diplomatically. You raise an eyebrow at the stiff response. Perhaps your little… episode… had annoyed him more than you initially thought. Another apology certainly wouldn’t hurt.

“I hope I didn’t ruin your experience too much,” you wince, sheepishly shoving your hands in your pockets. Hannibal shakes his head, before taking a step closer to you.

“On the contrary, I found the performance more enjoyable with your company,” he asserts. Hannibal still looks as handsome as he did when he first appeared on your doorstep this evening—not a hair out of place. You swallow hard, before roughly shoving the thought aside—now is not the time. “I apologize for Franklyn.” Your eyebrows furrow. Why is he apologizing?

“You can’t control his actions,” you say, waving his concern off. “No harm done.” At that, Hannibal’s expression darkens. He takes another step closer, until the two of you are standing face to face. For a while, there is nothing but tense, uncomfortable silence.

“I disagree,” Hannibal says darkly, his hand resting lightly on your collarbone. Before you can protest, he’s gently pushing away the collar of your shirt to look at your shoulder. He frowns and you realize that he’s looking at the marks Franklyn left behind. If you had thought his prior expression to be dark, the look on his face now is nothing short of murderous. You feel your breath stalling in your chest, as you ground yourself in the realization that you’re standing in front of a killer with absolutely nothing to protect you. Hannibal moves to cup your cheek with a tenderness you thought him to be incapable of. His touch makes your skin feel licked with flames. Each breath you take feels labored and harsh. You swear you see Hannibal’s gaze fall to your lips for a brief moment, but you put it down to your imagination. It’s kind of late and you’re tired—you’re probably just seeing things. For a long moment, neither of you move or speak.

“Good night,” Hannibal says, a strangely determined expression on his face. His gaze keeps moving to your collarbone and you idly wish you had concealed the marks better. His hand falls from your face and he stares at you for a long moment, as if regretting your parting. You make sure to remind him of the pile of folded clothes, which he takes into his arms before turning around to leave.

“Good night, Hannibal,” you respond, opening the door for him. You watch as he enters his car and drives away. Despite the knowledge that he’s already out of sight, you feel the urge to wait a few more minutes before looking away. Finally, you close the front door and fall back against it, your mind reeling.

chapter six

#defectivevillain #Hannibal Lecter x reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x gn reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc

299 notes · View notes